




































Not His 


Daughter. 


AN AMERICAN NOVEL. 


By Will Herbert, 

s. 



“Not His Daughter,” from the pen of Will Herbert, is an unusually bright, clever 
and pleasing novel. The interest is pronounced and continuous, while the breezy, 
graceful way in which the book is written is peculiarly charming. There is plenty of 
humor to vary the details of the conspiracy upon which the plot hinges. The young 
people, animated by the tender passion, are very naturally drawn. Frank Harper's ro- 
mantic though hopeless adoration of the heroine, Violet Frone, and his heroic sacrifice 
upon the altar of friendship for the hero, Darcy, are wonderfully pathetic and touching. 
Charley Chanwood's joyous disposition and inability to keep from falling in love make 
him a fruitful source of amusement, while that eager seeker for a wealthy husband, 
Emma Stannel, and her managing mamma are characters to be found in fashionable 
society everywhere. The book abounds in dramatic scenes ; indeed, that in which 
Quearle discloses his identity is one of the strongest and most original ever written. The 
midnight meeting of Mrs. Sanders and her vagabond husband is also a powerful and 
thrilling picture. “ Not His Daughter” is a novel that will be read without skipping 
a page, for it contains no irrelevant matter, and will more than repay perusal. 





& 


APRS? 1886x4 / 



PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 


T. B. 


COPYRIGHT . — 1 8 8 6. 
PETERSON & BROTHERS, 


« • ♦ 



HOT HIS DAUGHTER. 

“ Not His Daughter,” from the pen of Will Herbert , is a refreshing 
and agreeable American romance , as well as an exceedingly interesting 
one. It possesses many decided charms , not the least of which is a clear , 
crisp and graceful style. It is a novel of the present time and built on the 
modern plan, with plenty of bright, cheerful humor to vary the details of a 
villainous conspiracy upon which the plot hinges. The tender passion plays a 
prominent part in the action as exemplified in very naturally drawn young 
couples , while the romantic element is furnished by Frank Harper's ardent 
but hopeless adoration of the heroine , Violet Frone. The hero , Professor 
Darcy, fully deserves the happiness he ultimately obtains. Charley Chan- 
wood, who falls in love with every attractive young lady he meets, fills the 
light comedy role to perfection, while that eager seeker for a wealthy hus- 
band, Emma Stannel, and her managing mamma are characters to be 
found in fashionable society everywhere. Grace Harper is a charming 
girl, and the muscular Hatton inspires a peculiar interest that is not less- 
ened by startling disclosures made at the proper time . Mr. Kift, the law- 
yer, is a shrewd rascal, and Bill Norton a British reprobate of the most 
reckless type. “ Not His Daughter ” abounds in thrilling and dramatic 
incidents. It is a novel that will be read without skipping a page, for it 
contains no irrelevant matter whatever, and that it will give pronounced 
satisfaction to everybody is beyond question. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter. Page. 

I. AN IDLE PAIR 21 

II. MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER 32 

III. AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER 38 

IV. CHARLEY CHANWOOD MEETS A YOUNG LADY 

IN BLUE 50 

V. A STAGE COACH RIDE 60 

VI. MR. KIFT 70 

VII. THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO 78 

VIII. NOT HIS DAUGHTER 92 

IX. NORTON 102 

X. A STRANGE PROPOSAL 113 

XI. A SUMMER EVENING 127 

XII. BROTHER AND SISTER 141 

XIII. A SLIGHT MISTAKE 151 

XIV. HUSBAND AND WIFE 161 


( 19 ) 


20 CONTENTS. 

Chapter. Page. 

XV. THE RAILWAY STATION AT ARNOTTSVTLLE . . 171 

XVI. TELL ME THE TRUTH 179 

XVII. MARSHALLING THE EVIDENCE 188 

XVIII. A LITERARY GENIUS 199 

XIX. THREE CONFESSIONS IN ONE DAY 209 

XX. ALFRED IS APPRECIATED 219 

XXI. DARCY MAKES A CONFIDANTE 229 

XXII. THE LAWYERS CLERK OVERHEARS SOMETHING 240 

xxiii. grace’s ball 249 

XXIV. QUEARLE ARRIVES 258 

XXV. SHOWING HIS HAND 264 

XXVI. CONCLUSION 274 


Not His 



CHAPTEE I. 

AN IDLE PAIK. 

more billiards, George?” 

± N “ Hardly.” 

“Well, what will we do with ourselves?” 

“A serious question and one I cannot answer, 
Charley.” 

The speakers, two young men, had just stepped out of 
the billiard room of a large hotel in one of the most 
popular and fashionable resorts of the Atlantic coast. 
The time was yet early in the summer, but already 
the house was full of people. 

The two crossed to a spacious piazza which ran 
around the building, and stood gazing dreamily out upon 
the ocean. They were, indeed, an idle looking pair. 

“ Have you another cigar ? ” said Charley Chan wood, 
the younger of the two, who was a cheerful looking 

( 21 ) 


22 


AN IDLE PAIR. 


fellow, with blue eyes, light hair and a moustache of the 
same hue. 

“ Plenty of them,” said his companion, languidly, 
smoking with great composure. 

“Be polite enough then to offer me one. Selfish- 
ness is your predominant characteristic. What is the 
matter with you anyhow? I tell you plainly I’ll have 
to hunt up another companion if you don’t manage to 
be a little more sociable. Don’t you like the place?” 

“I do not,” replied Darcy, emphatically. 

“Why not?” queried Charley, lighting the cigar 
which had been proffered him; “the country around 
here is pretty enough, the sea is as wet as one could 
desire, the house is a good one, and the people we 
meet ” 

“ That’s it — the people,” interrupted the other ; “ they 
are all alike — too distressingly conventional. They 
don’t seem as if they came here even for rest or rec- 
reation.” 

“What do you suppose they came for?” 

“ It’s beyond me ; some of them, possibly, to have 
their names chronicled in the newspapers.” 

“ And the ladies ? ” 

“ Most of them as vapid as the air. But I suppose it 
is the same way in every place of this description. 
This is our third move in a week, and the people in one 
place are as much like the people in another as one peck 
of peas to the other peck. It seems a pity that these 
charming localities should always be monopolized by 
such unappreciative and artificial creatures/’ 

“Why, I thought we had met some very pleasant 


AN IDLE PAIR. 


28 


people,” said Charley. “ Now there is Miss Stannel, 
whom you found so agreeable last night ” 

“Very agreeable,” said Darcy, in a tone which was 
understood by his hearer but purposely misinterpreted. 

“ I agree with you — very agreeable. And there is her 
mother, Mrs. Martha Stannel — I think her name is 
Martha, though it might be Mary — they were sisters, 
you know, Martha and Mary. You must have made 
yourself quite pleasant to her also, for you certainly 
made an impression upon her.” 

“ Indeed ! ” said Darcy, without any show of inter- 
est. 

“ It was remarkable, wasn’t it ? ” * pursued Charley, 
delighted at the annoyance he was creating. “She 
told me herself that she thought you very nice . 
How do you like the word ? ” 

“She is very condescending, I’m sure.” 

“ Emma said you were one of the most entertain- 
ing persons she had ever met.” 

“Who is Emma?” asked Darcy. 

“ The young lady to whom you were so attentive 
last night.” 

“Miss Stannel, you mean? Her name is Emma, is 
it? Well, Charley, my boy, you do ” 

“Oh! I don’t call her Emma,” cried Charley, has- 
tily; “I’m as respectful to her as if she were my 
grandmother. But her name is Emma, and why 
shouldn’t you and I call her by her right name — entre 
nous you know?” 

“Why should we speak of her at all?” 

“Why, indeed! except for something pleasant to 


24 


AN IDLE PAIR. 


talk about/’ said Charley, without a suspicion of in- 
sincerity. 

“Quite a pretty speech. It does you credit, but 
are there no other pleasant subjects for our conversa- 
tion when this one is exhausted?’ 1 

“ This one is not exhausted,’* said Charley, in high 
glee; “the idea of saying Emma Stannel is exhausted! 
You don’t know her, George.” 

“Nor am I anxious to know her any better than I 
do. The fact is, I do not admire her particularly.” 

“You talked with no one else last evening.’* 

“Did I? That was probably because there was no 
one else to talk with except you. I suppose I was 
obliged to do it. I am beginning to think that this 
young lady has made an impression, as you call it, 
upon yourself.” 

“You are right, George,** said Charley, with ama- 
zing candor, “and I myself was just beginning to think 
that I was not altogether uninteresting to her, when 
in an evil moment I introduced you, and you cut 
me out.** 

“Did what?” 

“ Cut me out — that’s exactly what I mean.** 

Darcy laughed heartily, but Charley’s face presented 
a look of the most lugubrious woe. 

“ My poor Charles, I’m perfectly willing to cut you 
in again, if such a thing can be done. I do not 
think your case is a very serious one. Your attacks 
of this character are generally brief, although they 
occur with startling frequency. It must be in your 
system. You ought to take something for it.” 


AN IDLE PAIR. 


25 


“ What would you advise ? ” asked Charley, gravely. 

“ Anything that will make you pretty sick, and take 
some of the poetic bile out of you, which in you 
superinduces a sort of malarious idealism.’ 1 

“Is it quite as bad as that?” 

“Worse, I believe. Here is a diagnosis of some 
of your latest prostrations: you meet a young lady — 
it makes no difference whether she is good-looking or 
otherwise, though I think you prefer the former — and 
this young lady smiles upon you, or looks pleasant. 
You immediately place her on a very high pedestal, 
which we will call the pedestal of your poetic idealis- 
tic, fancy. Daily, and nightly too, you go down upon 
your knees and worship the idol you have put there. 
This goes on for a short while until the moment comes 
when another charming female crosses the line of 
your vision. Immediately you are distracted in your 
worshipful contemplation; the scales fall from your 
eyes ; the new attraction causes you to discover many 
imperfections in your idol; you ask her to come down 
from the pedestal, and gallantly assist the adorable 
new one to the vacant spot. The reign of the sup- 
planter is as short-lived as that of her predecessor, 
and she soon gives place to another. This interesting 
state of affairs goes on indefinitely.” 

“ It speaks well for me that I am able to find some- 
thing to be loved in them all.” 

“ Possibly.” 

“Whilst you find it in none.” 

“ Oh ! yes, I do — in a few.” 

“Envied few!” 


AN IDLE PAIR. 


28 

“I’m sure I don’t see why they should be envied for 
that.” 

“Are you waiting for the perfect woman?” 

“I am not waiting for any woman — I am only speak- 
ing of your malady. I am not quite so foolish as to 
wait for that which will never come. Most of the 
women one meets are altogether unsatisfactory. Par 
exemple x there is the society woman, who flourishes in 
places of this description during the season. She is a 
hot-house flower ; the very sun is only allowed to shine 
upon her through the panes of a tested and graduated 
glass. She is passably pleasing to the eye, but she emits 
no fragance, for all naturalness is crushed out of her 
even whilst a bud.” 

“She is a flower, at all events.” 

“Certainly, but not one of nature's raising. Her 
ideas are assiduously dwarfed from childhood by fool- 
ish parents. Her very playfulness as a child is checked 
when it first begins to show itself, and she is told to 1 be- 
have like a lady.’ A grammar or compendium of 
conventional speech is then put in her hands to study. 
She is next consigned to a select fashionable boarding- 
school, and after a few sessions there, supplemented by a 
couple of 4 winters out’— behold the product! A young 
damsel, who will speak to you an hour or more, with 
the most remarkable fluency and ease, but without 
evincing one original idea ; who affects painting or 
music, perhaps, without knowing anything about 
them; who is perfectly well acquainted with all the 
surrounding gossip, and who will tell it to you for 
your delectation, if you desire, embellished with a few 


AN IDLE PAIR. 


27 


malicious comments of her own; who regards men in 
general only in the light of possible husbands, their 
eligibility being recognized solely by their claims to 
social position, wealth or distinction.” 

“You’re getting cynical.” 

“Cynical? Not at all.” 

“I say you are. One would think to hear you talk 
that some fair creature had presented you with a woolen 
glove, and instead, a beautiful young lady has taken 
the trouble to express admiration for you — a young 
lady,” continued Charley, warmly, “ one of whose bright 
smiles many a man would consider himself lucky to 
get — whom ” 

“If I am cynical, you are becoming sarcastical.” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“As sarcastical as your nature will allow. You are 
altogether too easily pleased with everybody and every- 
thing to ever become very severe.” 

“ Thanks; returning to the subject — what do you say 
to the unsophisticated country maiden?” 

“I have read of her, Charley,” said Darcy, arranging 
himself comfortably in a chair, and blowing the smoke 
from his cigar about his head in * lazy fashion. 

“ There is no doubt about it that the country maiden 
is often a delightful change from the ordinary run of 
women,” said Charley, tilting back his chair. “ Give me 
the simple artless creature, reared in ” 

“My dear fellow,” interrupted Darcy, suavely, “I have 
none to give you. Don’t describe her I beseech you! 
I know already what you would say: she is the tradi- 
tional rustic beauty; age, eighteen; dresses in simple 


28 


AN IDLE PAIR. 


white; hair flowing down her back; eyes averted, or 
staring so uncomfortably hard at you that you are 
obliged to avert your own ; looks ridiculously healthy ; 
simpers sweetly, or laughs boisterously; is fond of 
romping and practical jokes, and is ” 

“No such thing !’ 7 cried Charley, justly indignant; 
“that is not the kind of a girl I mean at all. You must 
have met her in a book, for I’m sure you never met 
her anywhere else. Now, the country girl I was going 
to depict is perfectly natural ” 

“I know she is, but too much so. Nature is all very 
well, but art is a wonderful ally sometimes, particularly 
in regard to women. Not too much of it, you under- 
stand,” continued Darcy, in an explanatory way; “there 
should be a class of women consisting of a happy 
medium between the extreme natural school and the 
ultra artificial one.” 

“Well, isn’t there?” 

“I do not know, to speak candidly,” said Darcy. 

“You are getting positively morbid. You must see 
people with queer eyes. For my part, I think those 
I have had the fortune to meet are a right jolly set.” 

Darcy evidently did not think the remark merited any 
reply, and a silence of some moments ensued, during 
which he smoothed his moustache complacently, and 
Charley, for lack of anything better to do, played a 
rattling tattoo with his cane upon the piazza railing, 
accompanying the action by whistling a peculiarly enli- 
vening melody. Presently Darcy said: 

“These Stannels — since you will talk of them — where 
did you get to know them ? ” 


AN IDLE PAIR. 


29 


“You’re mistaken, George, — it is ages since I men- 
tioned their names; to use your own words — ‘why 
should we talk of them at all ? ’” 

“I can see no very weighty reason,” said Darcy, 
not at all disturbed, “ but I confess to having felt some 
curiosity on the subject. It is no matter.” 

“ A laudable curiosity deserves to be gratified,” said 
Charley, quickly; “I met them at a reception last 
winter.” 

Darcy showed no disposition to make any further 
inquiries about them, and Charley was disappointed. 
He endeavored to bring Darcy back to the topic, but 
without success. 

“The old lady — or I should say, Mrs. Stannel — told 
me yesterday that she knows your Aunt.” 

“ My Aunt has a very wide circle of acquaintances,” 
said Darcy, utterly unmoved; “that reminds me of 
what I was going to tell you.” 

“Your Aunt?” 

“No, but my new resolution.” 

“Then you have resolved to do something? I am 
glad to hear it.” 

“I am going to visit my Aunt to-morrow, or the 
next day, or the day after that. She has a delightful 
place in one of the strangest little out-of-the-way cor- 
ners you ever saw.” 

“Horrible!” ejaculated Charley, “and why do you 
want to go there ? ” 

“ You are altogether mistaken — there is nothing 
horrible about it. My Aunt is a rather queer old lady, 
and I believe prefers this secluded locality. She has 


30 


AN IDLE PAIR. 


abundant means, and could have a place anywhere she 
chose. You wouldn’t believe it, but it is a fact, never- 
theless, that she often has her house full of visitors 
for weeks at a time, and again no one will be there 
except herself and the servants.” 

“Do you go there often?” asked Charley, getting 
interested. 

“Generally three or four times during the summer. 
I have a standing invitation. She has no children and 
I am her brother’s son.” 

“And her prospective heir? George, allow me to 
congratulate you ! ” 

“ If you congratulate me on having such a relative, 
I am obliged to you,” said Darcy, rather stiffly, “but 
I see no cause for congratulation in the death of my 
Aunt, which your words necessarily imply.” 

“What put this sudden notion in your head?” said 
Charley, accepting the rebuff in the best possible 
humor. 

“I feel as if I would like a change. We have not 
found much, even moving about as we have been. 
There are a couple of articles, too, which I have prom- 
ised The Physicist , and which I must have ready by 
October.” 

“ What is to become of me ? ” said Charley, in the 
deepest woe. 

“You must pardon me for never having thought of 
the pain my absence would inflict upon you.” 

“I won’t do anything of the kind. Your selfishness 
is disgusting. But I say, George” — -after a meditative 
pause — “couldn’t I go with you?” 


AN IDLE PAIR. 


31 


“Aren’t you enjoying yourself here? Remember, 
Emma will not accompany us.” 

“So then you are going for enjoyment after all?” 

“I have already told you why I propose to go.” 

“ Will there be any — er — young ladies there, do you 
suppose ? ” asked Charley, somewhat timidly. 

“I do not think so,” replied Darcy, endeavoring to 
suppress the smile provoked by his friend’s palpable 
weakness, “at least I hope there will be none.” 

“I’ll tell you what you do,” said Charley, a brilliant 
idea having occurred to him : “ you go ahead and visit 
your Aunt, and then you write me — I’ll let you have my 
address — and if you find you are having a good time, 
why, just drop me a line, and I’ll come.” 

“With my Aunt’s permission.” 

“ Certainly, certainly,” said Charley. 

“I merely mention it, Charley, not but that you are 
the best of fellows, but my Aunt, as I have said, is 
rather peculiar ” 

“I understand,” broke in Charley, good-naturedly. 
“You’ll put in a good word for me?” 

“You shall have my recommendation.” 

“Which is all that dear old Aunt of yours will re- 
quire; that being settled, let us take a walk.” 


32 


MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER II. 

MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER. 


D ARCY’S mood was not a novelty to his compan- 
ion. He had often seen him in it before, and 
had as often gotten him out of it. Ho two persons 
were more unlike. Darcy was generally — to use an 
expressive adage — “down in the cellar or up in the 
garret.” Charley was always in the garret. If it were 
a fault, he was too sanguine and easily satisfied. It 
was his light-heartedness and unfailing good spirits 
which first attracted Darcy to him. He envied him 
his disposition and despised the unfortunate weakness 
of his own. They got along together famously, for 
each reacted in a measure upon the other. 

Darcy acceded to Charley’s proposition to take a 
walk, and, throwing away their cigars, they sauntered 
along the piazza, passing, as they did so, the various 
groups of people always to be found at a summer 
hotel. 

In one spot a party of old ladies, with caps and 
without them, were huddled together, carrying on a 
momentous conversation in a serious undertone. A 
little apart sat three young ladies, one reading a novel, 
the second scrutinizing critically the dress of a fair 
promenader, and the third listening with much appar- 
ent interest to the words of wisdom which fell from 


MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER. 


33 


the lips of a young man, dressed in a tennis suit, who 
stood before her. Nurses were trundling baby carriages 
in an erratic fashion, as nurses generally do, compar- 
ing notes with each other, dilating upon the faults or 
virtues of their respective mistresses, and cheerfully 
indifferent to the tearful expostulations and loudly ex- 
pressed desires of their little wards. Further on, a 
knot of elderly gentlemen energetically engaged in 
discussing the financial and political status of the nation, 
for the time forgetful of hotel bills for large families 
and incidental expenses. 

As Darcy and Charley turned a corner, they came 
upon a stout old lady rocking herself slowly in a 
wicker chair. Near her sat her daughter, to all ap- 
pearances wholly engrossed in some fancy work. The 
mother might have been sixty years of age, the 
daughter twenty-five. 

Emma Stannel was generally admitted to be hand- 
some. She was tall and slight and her figure was 
good. Her hair, eyes and complexion were dark, and 
her features were regular, although, perhaps, a little 
too sharp in outline. This morning she had on a 
dress of some light-colored material, and, with a 'becom- 
ing piece of cherry ribbon fluttering in her hair, looked 
very bright and attractive. 

Nevertheless, Darcy uttered an exclamation of 
mingled surprise and angry impatience. He started to 
retrace his steps 4 , but Charley caught him by the arm. 

“ Too late, George — they have seen us. Go in, now, 
like a man, ‘Fortune favors the brave.’” 

Mrs. Stannel had already caught sight of them, and 

3 


34 


MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER. 


was playfully making an imperative gesture for them 
to approach. Retreat was impossible. 

“ I am so glad I saw you,” she said when they 
had walked up and seated themselves; “I really believe 
you both were going to run away.” 

Charley hastened to disclaim any such base inten- 
tion, but Darcy was not very earnest in his denial. 

“ Mr. Chanwood, no one knows when you are speak- 
ing the truth,” continued Mrs. Stannel, tapping him 
reprovingly with her fan; “do you know, Mr. Darcy, 
he always says what he thinks will please, without 
meaning a word of it?” 

“I am afraid you are rather severe on him, Mrs. 
Stannel,” said Darcy, thus appealed to. 

“And I agree with you, Mr. -Darcy,” said Emma, 
looking up and giving him a glance of timid approval 
from under her dark lashes; “I know he has said 
ever so many pretty things to me, and I won’t believe 
he didn’t mean them.” 

Here she pursed her lips into a captivating pout. 

“Now, Mrs. Stannel, see how you have wronged 
me ! ” exclaimed Charley, greatly delighted. 

“ Emma, you are such a strange child,” said her 
mother, in a voice of languid resignation. 

“I don’t care, Mamma, ” replied Emma; “I do not 
think it is right to be so unjust — do you, Mr. 
Darcy ? ” 

This being the second time he had been called 
upon to decide, he was constrained to say something. 
Inwardly he confounded the extreme silliness of small 
-talk. 


MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER. 


35 


“ Perhaps your mother is a little too sweeping in 
her assertion. There are times, however, when her 
observation might apply to Mr. Chanwood without 
any great perversion of the truth.” 

“I am surprised at you, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss 
Stannel, opening her eyes to an alarming extent; “I 
had looked to you as an ally, if not for my sake, at 
least for the sake of your friendship to Mr. Chan- 
wood.” 

“Do not look for too much in me, Miss Stannel, or 
you may be disappointed,” was Darcy’s reply. 

“His friends do not bother him a great deal,” put 
in Charley; “it was only a little while ago that he 
announced his intention of deserting me and running 
off somewhere to see his Aunt.” ' 

“ Why, Mr. Darcy ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Stannel, giving 
a little jump of genuine surprise, and letting her gold 
eye-glasses fall off her nose into her lap. 

“You don’t mean it, surely? ” cried Emma, gazing at 
Darcy in open wonder. 

One would have thought he had declared his inten- 
tion of sailing for the Polar seas. 

“ Is there anything remarkable about it ? ” asked 
Darcy, amused. 

“Of course not,” said -Mrs. Stannel, quickly; “but 
it is such a surprise ! Mr. Chanwood told us only 
yesterday the route you both proposed to take this 
summer, and we were quite interested in it, especially 
as part of it was identical with our own.” 

“You are very kind,” said Darcy, casting an angry 
glance at Charley, who pretended not to see him. 


36 


MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER. 


“You must not accuse us women of being tbe only 
creatures subject to sudden fancies,” Mrs. Stannel went 
on; “you men are just as bad. I hope you will have 
a pleasant visit. I do not think I told you that your 
Aunt is one of my oldest and dearest friends.” 

“Is it possible!” in a tone of agreeable surprise, so 
well counterfeited as to almost throw Charley into a 
paroxysm of mirth. 

“Oh! yes,” said Mrs. Stannel, blissfully ignorant of 
the amusement she was affording ; “ I have known her 
a very long time — I am almost afraid to say how long. 
She is such a sweet old lady! And she has such a 
beautiful place! Emma, my child, didn’t we receive 
an invitation about a couple of weeks ago from Mrs. 
Charter asking us to visit her?” 

“Yes, Mamma.” 

“If you should accept, I hope I will have the good 
fortune to be there at the same time,” said Darcy, 
politely. 

“ I do think it is the loveliest place on earth ! ” Emma 
exclaimed, rapturously; “I have just been legging 
Mamma to go.” 

At this juncture Mrs. Stannel was called away by her 
maid, and, after making excuses, mother and daughter 
withdrew, leaving the two young men again alone. 

“I breathe the air once more,” said Darcy. 

“We have lost the sunshine,” said Charley, with a 
comical expression of unutterable grief upon his face. 

“I presume you refer to — ah — Emma?” 

“How can you ask me?” 

“What have you been telling these people about 


MRS. STANNEL AND DAUGHTER. 


37 


me?” demanded Darcy, suddenly. “Why should they 
know anything about my movements? I suppose you 
have been lying, just for fun, as you call it!” 

“I told them more than you deserved.” 

“What did you say?” 

“Nothing of much importance; merely that you w T ere 
in comfortable circumstances, with assurances of better 
in the future ; that you were rather bright, or, at least, 
thought you were, and had managed to get several 
persons to agree with you, myself not included; that 
you had earned some fame and were working for more ; 
that several years might be added to your age before 
you could be said to be ancient ; and last, though not 
least, that you were a cousin by marriage of Khengis 
Khan and a blood relative of Sinbad the Sailor ! ” 

“Charley, you are a fool!” said Darcy, in great 
disgust. 


38 


AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER 


CHAPTER III. 

AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER. 

B REMENTOWN was a very quaint old spot. Vil- 
lages had grown into towns, and from towns to 
cities, but Brementown was little different from what 
it had always been. Though in the very midst of 
its more ambitious neighbors, it seemed to live apart 
from them, and, whilst they strove with feverish anxiety 
to extend their limits and impress upon the world at 
large the fact of their own importance, Brementown 
remained in a state of dormant a‘nd contented bliss, and 
only asked one favor — that the sun be allowed to appear 
daily in the East, and, after granting the place its 
legitimate quota of light and warmth, descend in the 
West about the time when Brementown and its chick- 
ens desired to slumber. There was probably no other 
place like it in the whole United States, and it felt 
proud of the distinction. Yet from its very nature it 
possessed a peculiar charm for the visitor. People 
said it was “ slow,” “ poky ” and “ ridiculous,” but still 
“a delightful old place.” 

Arnottsville, a few miles away, was an infant in age, 
but Arnottsville had a fire-engine, a newspaper and a 
“ city council,” Brementown had none of these. More- 
over, Arnottsville was on the railroad, but the builders 
of the road, blind to their own interests, had refused 


AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER. 


39 


to bind Brementown to the civilized world by tbe iron 
tie. Brementown _never complained of tlie injustice. 
It kept up its connection with tlie United States by 
means of an old coach, just as it had done a century 
before. There was but one street in Brementown, which 
traversed it from end to end. It was nothing more 
than a “pike” or highway, but where it ran through the 
village Brementown appropriated it to its own use, and 
gave it the original name of Main Street, one strictly in 
accord with the truth. 

The houses, for the most part, were old and of a mot- 
ley character. They had about them an air of calm 
superiority, and looked down with undisguised contempt 
upon some of the more “ priggish” structures, with the 
glaring brilliancy of their fresh paint and their precisely 
laid-out gardens. Even these hallowed precincts had 
been invaded by the modern builder. 

The public-house of the town was still known as 
“ Gardner’s Inn,” notwithstanding the fact that all inns 
of high and low degree throughout the land had been 
converted into “hotels.” Gardner himself, the great- 
grandson of the original proprietor, had he chosen to 
don a cocked hat, a “Continental” coat, a pair of knee 
breeches and buckled shoes, would have made a .very 
good representative of that type of landlords known no 
longer except in books or pictures. 

And thus lay Brementown in the smiling valley be- 
tween its pleasant hills, holding as much aloof from the 
world as the world did from it, and as indifferent to 
its opinions as it was to the sarcastic pen of the editor 
of the Arnottsville Index . 


40 


AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER. 


A mile back from “ Gardner’s Inn” — from which 
place all distances were here computed — stood two mas- 
sive wooden gate posts, and between them swung a 
heavy iron gate, surmounted by a row of rather exag- 
gerated spear-heads. Within the entrance, a little to 
the left, was an old lodge house, tenantless for many 
a day. No doubt it had once been quite a respectable 
building, but its walls were now weather-beaten and 
moss-grown. 

There is little changed about the place to-day. Swing- 
ing open the gate, which, rusty as it looks, turns easily 
on its hinges, as if they, at least, had plenty to do, 
you pass up the gravel carriage-way. On either side 
the tall, oaks stand closely together, their strong arms 
intertwined, and their thick foliage casting restless 
shadows on the sward below. It is only here and there 
the dancing sunshine pushes through the quivering 
green and illumines the sombre shade. 

You move on, and the road turns and winds in eccen- 
tric curves or sweeping semicircles. Suddenly you 
come to an opening, and there, directly in front of you, 
a hundred yards distant, is u Charter Mansion.” 

Old Stephen Charter built the house you are looking 
upon somewhere about the close of the last century. 
Good old Stephen had merely intended to build him- 
self a large, comfortable home, and was not ambitious 
of a pretentious title, but he had thoroughly astonished 
the villagers by the vastness of his ideas and it had 
ever been known as the “ Mansion.” 

To walk up to the house and enter it take but a 
moment. It is large and roomy, with lofty ceilings 


AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER. 


41 


and wide halls. Six immense pillars of stone rise in 
front and present an imposing fa<jade. Two wings run 
back at either end of the building, both materially 
altered to suit the purposes of the present owner, for 
one has been * converted into a conservatory, and a 
drawing-room has been put into the other. The win- 
dows of the lower floor have been cut down to the 
level of a veranda, and, unlike the many paned win- 
dows above, are fitted with large glass plates. The 
whole presents a strange jumble of old architecture 
and modern improvement, in which the latter appears 
to have gotten the better of the former, whenever the 
comfort or pleasure of the present occupant has been 
considered. 

There still hung about it, however, at the time of 
this story, the heritage of nobility. The gaudy villa 
just erected near by might laugh at its queer old 
pillars and other oddities, but the “ Mansion ” was im- 
perturbable, deigned not to notice the impertinence, and, 
calmly sensible of its antiquity and lineage, felt immeas- 
urably superior to the mush room opposite. 

The title to the “Mansion” and the lands adjacent 
was now vested in Tabitha Charter, spinster, to whom 
it had descended in an unbroken line from Stephen 
himself. She was a stout old lady, whose hairs had 
been whitened by some sixty-five winters, and which 
she kept smoothly brushed and curled up over her 
ears, no doubt, exactly as she had done when a young 
and beautiful girl. 

Many friends she had, although the circle of her 
acquaintances was quite a charmed one, within the 


42 


AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER. 


circumference of which entrance was not altogether 
easy. There were not a few who sighed to be classed 
in her “set,” not so much for her own sake — for she 
was only popular in quarters where she was thoroughly 
known — but because of the consequent advantages, 
social and otherwise. By those who knew her only 
by reputation she was universally spoken of as “an 
eccentric person.” It was undeniable that eccentric 
she certainly was. For months together she would 
occupy her large house in the city, with no compan- 
ions but her housekeeper and cook. At such times, 
she neither received nor paid calls, and the big brown- 
stone front, with its closed blinds and door, gave no 
evidence of inhabitants within. Then suddenly the 
house would become a thing of life. A ball would be 
given in honor of some one, and everybody would be 
there. This would be followed by, perhaps, a series 
of receptions or teas and an endless stream of callers. 
Almost without a warning, the old lady would retire 
again within her shell, for a length of time regulated 
by her humor, only to emerge again as lively as 
before. Yet, as her social connections were desirable 
and her entertainments excellent, sycophant society, 
laugh as it might at her peculiarities, obeyed her beck 
and call, when she summoned, with alacrity, and as 
commendably respected her seclusion. 

She did a great deal of charity in an unostentatious 
way. The peculiar bent of the kindness of her heart 
was characteristic of its owner. Thus she was Presi- 
dent of an Anti- Vivisection Society, the foundress of 
an Art School for Young Ladies, and the patroness of 


AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER. 


43 


a Bureau for obtaining employment for young men. 
Frequently, also, she wrote for the magazines and 
newspapers, the subjects, for the most part, being of a 
utilitarian nature. 

A very few mornings after the reported conversation 
between Darcy and Charley Chanwood, Aunt Tabitha 
was sitting at her breakfast table in the “ Mansion.” 
With her was a young girl in a morning wrapper of 
some delicate white and pink material. Her dark, 
almost black hair waving over a low forehead, the 
beautifully tinted complexion of white and red, the 
deep blue eyes, the exquisitely rounded figure, all 
formed a decided contrast to Aunt Tabitha in her 
plain black dress. 

The breakfast was finished, and Aunt Tabitha took 
a letter from her pocket, hesitated for a moment, and 
then said: 

“Did I tell you, Yiolet, that I received a letter from 
my nephew?” 

“No, Mrs. Charter; I did not even know you had 
a nephew.” 

“Did not know I had a nephew!” exclaimed Aunt 
Tabitha, in amazement. 

“I never dreamed of such a thing,” said Violet. 

Aunt Tabitha reflected for a moment. 

“Of course not — how could you ? ” 

“‘How could F — what, Mrs. Charter?” 

“How could you have heard of him when I never 
even mentioned his name! My dear child, I am getting 
so selfish that I have bored you by talking about 
myself, and never said one word about that dear boy.” 


44 


AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER. 


“ But you can tell me about him now,” said Violet, 
gladly. “ I love boys. Tell me all about him, or, better 
still, let me picture him to myself. In the first place, 
his name is Charter somebody — because he must be 
a brother’s child, and that brother would give him no 
other name. Next, he is about ten years of age, per- 
haps twelve; hair dark; eyes ditto; face manly and 
frank. * He goes to school, takes great interest in his 
studies, and is devotedly attached to his Aunt Tabitha. 
Am I not right ? ” 

As she saw the smile on Aunt Tabitha’s face, she 
leaned forward eagerly. 

“You know I am right — I always am. Read me 
his letter, Mrs. Charter; I think boys’ letters the most 
delightful of all correspondence.” 

Aunt Tabitha was laughing heartily now, much to 
Violet’s bewilderment. When she had managed to sub- 
due her laughter, a spirit of mischief might be seen 
in her keen gray eyes, as she said: 

“I was only laughing, Violet, at your wonderful intui- 
tion. With but one single exception you have described 
him almost — ’’here she showed signs of giving away 
again to her mirth — “almost as well as I could have 
done.” 

“What can be the exception?” said Violet, in tones 
of great satisfaction. 

“His hair is dark,” said Aunt Tabitha, “and so are 
his eyes. His name is the same as my own; he goes 
to school, takes great interest in his studies, and loves 
his Aunt Tabitha almost as well as she does him.” 

“Yes?” said Violet, delightedly, rushing to her doom. 


AUNT TABITHA’s LETTER. 


45 


“Still you are wrong about his age.” 

“Oh! that is a small matter,” cried Yiolet; “you 
could not expect me to give his exact age.” 

“I could not, Yiolet; but do you call a discrepancy 
of twenty years a small matter?” 

“ Twenty years ! ” gasped the astounded girl. 

“Just about twenty years,” replied Aunt Tabitlia, 
watching with keen relish the roseate hue suffuse the 
young girl’s face. 

“How could you do such a thing!” said Yiolet, 
piteously. “ I always thought you were real kind and 
good.” 

“You must not blame me; it was you who offered 
to picture him.” 

“ I know I did, and you said I was correct with 
one exception.” 

“And so you were, my dear. You were right about 
the hair and eyes. His name is George Charter Darcy, 
and his face as frank as any you ever saw. He goes 
to school and takes great interest in his studies, for 
he holds the chair of Physics in Stedman University.” 

Yiolet felt provoked. She took refuge in the pages 
of a magazine. Aunt Tabitha was watching her. 

“You forgot that you asked me to read the letter, 
Yiolet!” 

“I thought it was a boy’s, not a man’s letter,” — forced 
to close the magazine. “ Men’s letters are so stupid.” 

“Do you receive many?” asked Aunt Tabitha, re- 
lentlessly. 

“I do not receive any of them, but I suppose they 
write as they talk,” answered Yiolet, feeling that she 


46 


AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER. 


was justified under the circumstances in haying a fling 
at the sterner sex. 

“ Don’t you want to hear my boy’s letter ? ” 

“If you wish it,” said Yiolet, seeing escape was 
impossible. 

“Thank you, my dear; I only wanted to read it 
because I thought it would amuse you.” 

“I will listen,” — endeavoring to put on an expression 
of pleasant curiosity. 

“Yery well; here it is.” 

Aunt Tabitha unfolded the letter, adjusted her spec- 
tacles and proceeded to read with great deliberation 
the following: 


“ Newport, E. I., July 10th, 1880. 

“ Dear Aunt : — You can expect me at the 1 Mansion ’ 
on Tuesday next. I did not t*hink I would see you un- 
til later in the summer, but I have changed my mind, a 
prerogative which belongs to both sexes. 

“The truth is I am utterly sick of the constrained 
fashionable air I am and have been breathing: — near the 
ocean as it is — and the obtrusive snobbishness which 
is more widespread this season than I have ever seen it. 

“I sigh for the seclusion the ‘Mansion’ affords, and 
the society of your own dear self. Perhaps, you will 
laugh when you read such a serious letter on what will 
probably appear to you trivial causes of complaint, 
and I do not know but there is something ridiculous 
about it, but you know old age is creeping on ” 

“ The idea ! ” exclaimed Aunt Tabitha, parenthetically. 


AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER. 


47 


“And peevishness and irritability are some of its 
delightful concomitants. 

“There is a friend of mine here, a Mr. Chanwood, 
who would like to accompany me, but I told him I must 
have- your august permission. He is an easy-going 
young fellow, and capital company. At present he finds 
much solace and enjoyment in the society of some of 
the lackadaisical young ladies flourishing in this local- 
ity, particularly a Miss Stannel. 

“ By the way, the young lady’s mother says you are 
a great friend of hers. 

“I presume you have no visitors. 

“Your Affectionate Nephew, 

“ Charter.” 

Aunt Tabitha had hardly read the last line when 
she saw she had made a mistake. She hastened to 
correct it. 

“You see, Yiolet, he thought I had a house full of 
people.” 

“ If I heard you aright, the words were 1 no visitors.’ ” 

“ Yes, I believe that is what he writes,” said Aunt 
Tabitha, nervously, “but I know very well what he 
means.” 

“ I had already determined upon returning home 
to-morrow,” said Yiolet; “it was only yesterday I 
received a letter from my father, asking if I were going 
to make this my permanent abode.” 

“ Oh ! Yiolet ! ” said Aunt Tabitha, aghast, “ you 
will not leave me! I shall write Charter this very 
morning that he must not come.” 


48 


AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER. 


“ No, no, not for worlds ! His coming has nothing to 
do with my resolution.” 

“ I shall do it, unless you promise to stay with me.” 

She looked so utterly miserable and guilty that Violet 
was touched by the sight. Aunt Tabitha reached out 
and took the girl’s fair white hands in her own. 

“Stay with me, Violet,” she pleaded, “stay but a 
little while longer. You do not know what the love of 
an old woman is for a young girl. The loves of youth 
are strong and passionate, but, Violet darling, the love 
of an old woman is a part of her childishness; it is the 
bright young love of her girlhood come back to her, 
with all its strength, ardor and waywardness. Such is 
my love for you, Violet. You will stay to make an old 
woman happy ? ” 

The appeal was too pathetic and eloquent for the 
nature of the girl. Her eyes were flowing with tears ; 
she hesitated painfully for a brief moment, and then, 
impulsively imprinting a long kiss on the aged cheek, 
broke from her and passed quickly from the room. 

She walked out on the grounds and threw herself 
upon a rustic bench. The letter had disturbed her 
considerably, and wounded her sensitive pride. Of 
course, this nephew had a perfect right to come to the 
“Mansion” if he chose, but it was too bad that he 
should conclude to do so just when she was having such 
a cosy time with Aunt Tabitha. 

It was true, she admitted to herself, she might put up 
with him and, perhaps, enjoy his society, if he were 
any one else, but the letter was a mental and physical 
photograph of the writer. She knew she would not 


AUNT TABITHA’S LETTER. 


49 


like him. He was a thorough man of the world — good- 
looking, probably, and vain, indolent and blase . The 
condescending tone of the letter told that much. 

How flippantly and imperiously he spoke of the 
“lackadaisical young ladies,” who she was perfectly 
sure were a great deal too good for him ! The friend he 
had been pleased to dispose of so summarily in the 
phrase, “ an easy-going young fellow,” was ten million 
times better than himself! She was confident of that 
also. Yes, she would really like to meet this Mr. Chan- 
wood. There was no doubt about her liking him . She 
must stay here’ too, and offer homage to this Eastern 
monarch, who had signified his royal pleasure of visit- 
ing the “Mansion,” and who had expressed a desire 
that no others should be present when he made his 
entry. Oh! how galling it was, and how deep the 
mortification ! She would not be surprised if he should 
think she had begged to be allowed to remain ! That 
would be just like him, at any rate. In all probability, 
he would meet her with a stare, and, after eyeing her 
leisurely, turn to his humble slave, Aunt Tabitha, and 
desire to be informed who she was, and what right 
she had to be there! 

One thing she would do, at all events. If she must 
remain during his visit, she was resolved that he should 
see as little of her as possible. 

Aunt Tabitha! Aunt Tabitha! it was very wrong 
to read that letter. 

4 


50 


CHANWOOD MEETS A LADY IN BLUE. 


CHAPTER IV. 

CHARLEY CIIANWOOD MEETS A YOUNG LADY IN BLUE. 

T HE steamboat Mercury was a handsome one, and 
at no time did it appear to better advantage 
than on a certain sunshiny morning, as it moved out 
from its wharf in the river, and with streamers float- 
ing gayly in the morning breeze, and a deck full of 
passengers, glided swiftly up the stream. The day was 
bright and the water sparkling. On both sides were 
the forests of masts and the smokestacks of idle boats, 
and, behind, the tall spires and the shadowy buildings 
of the great city, gradually becoming smaller and 
smaller until at last they faded out of sight into the 
shadowy perspective. 

On the morning in question Charley Chanwood was 
comfortably seated on a camp-stool on the hurricane 
deck of the Mercury. Whether by measurement or 
accident, he had managed to fix himself exactly in the 
centre of the boat, and had his feet resting on the 
hand-rail and his stool tilted slightly backwards. 
Observing him closer, one would have thought he was 
winking, but he was merely opening and shutting his 
eyes alternately. He was using the flagstaff as a sight 
and critically watching the steering of the boat. It 
was an easy, idle, and, for the time, a particularly 
fascinating occupation, and he selected it for lack of 


CHANWOOD MEETS A LADY IN BLUE. 


51 


anything better to do. A couple of folded newspapers 
lay in his lap, but reading was evidently not to his 
mind. In one hand he held a light-colored sun urn- 
brella, which he dextrously twirled at intervals, an 
exercise which did not at all interfere with his navi- 
gation studies. -i j 

After awhile the umbrella ceased to revolve, the 
flagstaff began to be an uninteresting object' to con- 
template, and his chin sank on his breast. His eyes 
closed and he began to dreamily doze, and wonder 
what sort of a place the “Mansion” might be. 

Two or three days before, he had gotten a letter 
from Darcy, informing him that the necessary permis- 
sion had been obtained from Aunt Tabitha. The 
letter was evidently written, however, with the honest 
intention of discouraging an acceptance of the invita- 
tion. It went on to say that the “ Mansion ” was a 
very stupid place, and that the writer feared his friend 
would find it dreadfully tedious. This had puzzled 
Mr. Chanwood, for it was so unlike Darcy, who had 
ever manifested a lively appreciation of his compan- 
ionship. 

Nevertheless, after he had read the letter a couple 
of times, he thought he discovered a key to the enigma. 
There was a line which read, “No one is staying here 
at present, except a friend of my Aunt’s, a Miss Frone.” 

The more he pondered over the letter the more he 
became convinced that the “friend of my Aunt’s, a 
Miss Frone,” was in some measure responsible for its 
lack of heartiness. Satisfied of this fact, he replied at 
once, stating that he would start immediately for the 


52 


CHANW00D MEETS A LADY IN BLUE. 


“ Mansion,” and mentioning the day of his arrival. 
He left on the same train with his epistle. He arrived 
in the city, and, learning that a portion of the trip 
could be made by river, embarked on the Mercury. 

“I am so tired, Frank! I wish you could find me a seat.” 

The voice came immediately from behind the sun 
umbrella, and was low and sweetly musical. Charley 
awoke from his doze, with a start, and his feet drop- 
ped from the railing. The umbrella fell off his shoulder 
and stood like a gayly painted top on the deck. 

He looked around and saw a girlish figure, rather 
petite, dressed in a very becoming costume of navy 
blue. She was looking imploringly at a young man 
by her side, who was gazing helplessly about for a 
vacant seat. Instinctively Charley knew he was hei 
brother, for though he was apparently greatly solicitous 
about her comfort, it was not the exaggerated solicitude 
of a lovei>. All this he saw in much less time than it 
takes to tell it, and the next moment he was on his 
feet, and, bowing politely to the young man, offered 
his own chair. 

“ Allow me ! ” he said. 

The party addressed looked greatly surprised, hesi- 
tated a little, and then said, rather awkwardly: 

u Thank you very much, but we— that is I do not 
think you ” 

He was getting confused when his sister came to his 
relief, with a shy self-possession. She bowed slightly 
towards the chivalrous Charley, and gave him a be- 
witching smile of gratitude, as she took the proffered 
chair. 


CHANWOOD MEETS A LADY IN BLUE. 


53 


“We do not wish to rob you,” began the young man, 
in a constrained manner. 

“Not at all, not at all,” said Charley, cheerfully; 
“the fact is I was rather tired of sitting so long.” 

He had occupied the seat about ten minutes. At 
this moment he happened to see two vacant chairs at 
the other end of the boat. He knew they were engaged 
but that made no difference to him. 

“ One moment,” he said, disappearing in the crowd 
of people and reappearing almost instantly with the 
coveted chairs ; “ here are chairs for both of us. Sit 
down quickly or some one may claim them.” 

The brother obeyed mechanically, absolutely dazzled 
by Charley’s brilliant manoeuvre. 

After the two had seated themselves, Charley cast 
furtive glances at his companion and endeavored to 
make him out. He was altogether too young and 
diffident for a business man. Nor was he gotten up 
smartly enough to be a clerk in a commercial house. 
Charley thought of a dozen other avocations, but final- 
ly concluded that the smooth-faced, yellow-haired 
young fellow was either a divinity student or a rural 
teacher. 

He was far more interested in endeavoring to get a 
peep at the sister, a somewhat difficult matter, for the 
brother, intentionally or otherwise, had so arranged his 
chair as to obstruct the sight. His valued sun umbrella 
came to his aid. He had forgotten all about it until 
he saw it caught up by a passing breeze and sail over 
the heads of the passengers, arrested suddenly by one 
of the guys of the boat. It was a comical incident, and 


54 


CHAN WOOD MEETS A LADY IN BLUE. 


the young lady in blue leaned forward and laughed quite 
heartily. He caught a glimpse of golden hair, a pair 
of bright eyes full of merriment, red lips that parted 
to show a gleam of pearly teeth, and that was sufficient 
for Mr. Chanwood. He surrendered unconditionally. 

When the fair object of his thoughts had laughed to 
see his buff umbrella move skyward, her brother had 
turned and looked at her in a sternly displeased way. 

He then must be propitiated at all cost, and Charley 
at once set about the task. 

“ A great many people on the boat ? ” he began, with 
a view to opening a conversation. “ There are a great 
many,” was the reply. This was rather discouraging, 
for, although we often make commonplace remarks as 
an introductory part of a proposed conversation, we 
generally feel disgusted when they are replied to in a 
commonplace way, and we have the same words echoed 
back to us. We expect, at least, a counter question 
or observation. 

“ I am very glad that I met you,” said Charley again, 
this time making a bold dash; “I was beginning to 
get very tired by myself. It is always pleasant on these 
occasions to have some one with whom you can talk.” 

The other smiled, but said nothing. 

“ It makes all the difference in the world,” continued 
Charley, not a whit discouraged. “I have had trips 
of only a few miles, which seemed to me simply endless, 
because I was obliged to entertain myself, and then 
again I have gone five or six hundred miles in the 
company of some jolly individual, and the distance 
wouldn’t seem anything.” 


CHANWOOD MEETS A LADY IN BLUE. 


55 


“I am not one of the jolly dispositions,” said the 
young man, pleasantly enough, though there was a 
perceptible sneer in his voice*. 

“Neither am I; these perpetually good-humored 
fellows are great bores,” said Charley, in a breakneck 
hurry to agree with him. “ There’s George Darcy, for 
instance — do you know him?” 

“I am sorry to say that I do not.” 

“ You may have heard of him. He teaches some- 
thing or other at Stedman University.” 

Instantly there was a change in Charley’s hearer. 
He became very much interested. 

“You don’t mean Professor Darcy?” 

“Yes, I do. Why not?” 

“Are you acquainted with him?” 

“Slightly. He and I are the greatest friends you 
ever saw. I only left him the other day. We were 
traveling together. I am on my way now to join 
him again.” 

“Is it possible!” exclaimed the other, regarding 
Charley with positive reverence. “ How I should love 
to know him ! He is a great man — a truly great man I 
Don’t you think so?” with animation. 

“I never thought much about his greatness/’ said 
Charley, laughing quietly, “but he is a real good 
fellow- Great?” — he mused in a troubled way — “how 
do you mean great ? ” 

“ I mean it in the sense of all that the word implies,” 
replied the young man, actually excited; “I mean that 
he is now one of the foremost scientific men in this 
country, if not in the world!” 


56 


CHANW00D MEETS A LADY IN BLUE. 


“ Oh !” said Charley, apparently relieved, “ I shouldn’t 
be surprised if you were right. I believe he is consid- 
ered pretty good in his line, whatever it is. Meta- 
physics I think he calls it.” 

“ 1 Metaphysics ! ’ ” burst out Darcy’s champion, with 
the most ineffable scorn. “No, sir, not metaphysics, 
but physics!” 

“ And so George is great, is he ? ” asked Charley, 
innocently. “ I must tell him as soon as I see him that I 
met one person who thought he was really great. It 
was only the other day that I, too, told him he was 
great — a great ass!” 

“You said that to Professor Darcy!” 

Horrified incredulity was on the young man's face. 

“ Certainly, I did,” said Charley, unabashed, “ and who 
but an old friend has a better right to say such things! ” 

“I should esteem his friendship too highly ever to 
make such a remark,” was the severe rejoinder. 

“I am glad you admire him so much. You say you 
have never met him ? ” 

“I have read him.” 

“I don't think I understand you.” 

“His works — his works,” impatiently; “they are 
read everywhere.” 

“You astonish me,” said Charley; “I knew he had 
written or was writing something — he’s always quill- 
driving, for that matter — but I had no idea his books 
were bought so generally. I must get him to give me 
a few — that is, if they are prettily bound. You appear 
to have a great admiration for him. If you wish it, I 
will make you acquainted with each other.” 


CHANW00D MEETS A LADY IN BLUE. 


57 


The young man started. His eyes lit up with a 
strange brilliancy. He looked long and searchingly at 
Charley, as if he half-feared there was something hid- 
den under his smiling visage. Then he said: 

“There is absolutely nothing I would like better 
than such an opportunity. I will never be able to 
repay your kindness.” 

“Oh! yes, you will; you might do it now; a sort 
of payment in advance, as it were.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“ Couldn’t you present me to Miss — your sister, 
there? ” blurted out Charley, when the name was not 
given him. “I would esteem it a great honor. You 
have the assurance of my acquaintance with Professor 
Darcy, and it is needless to say that all his friends 
are gentlemen. There is my card,” dextrously taking 
from his pocket the conventional pasteboard; “I am a 
stock broker — 77 Harris Street — third floor — take the 
elevator on Chancy Street — glad to see you at any 
time, if you do anything in my line ” 

He became suddenly conscious of his words. The 
pretty feminine profile under the jaunty hat had 
again caught his eye, and he was not responsible for 
the last few sentences. 

His hearer looked somewhat surprised at the request. 
He glanced at Charley’s card and said: 

“I have no card about me, Mr. Chan wood, but my 
name is Harper.” 

Turning then to his sister, who was busily engaged 
in viewing the passing scenery through a pair of opera- 
glasses, he touched her on the arm. 


58 


CHANWOOD MEETS A LADY IN BLUE. 


“ Grace, this is Mr. Chanwood, the gentleman whose 
seat you are occupying.’ 7 

It was not a very formal introduction, but Grace 
complimented him afterwards for the easy, natural 
way in which it was done. 

Charley rose and made his very best bow. Very 
cleverly he shifted his chair to Grace’s side. Unlike her 
brother, he found no difficulty in starting a conversation 
with her. Her manners and her spirits were all that her 
face bespoke, and with one accord they both stepped 
into the same boat and sailed into the sunny sea of con- 
genial discourse. Charley was more than charmed 
with her. 

Frank Harper was -troubled with very little more 
of the stranger’s attention during the remainder of the 
trip. He was practically ignored and he was not sure 
that he liked it. He asked himself if he had done 
right in introducing the lively young gentlemen to 
his sister, and the thought made him frown. A merry 
laugh from Grace dispelled the frown. Surely, it must 
have been all right, or else why was her face now aglow 
with a pleasant animation? She knew much more of 
the rules of propriety than he did, and yet his action 
had evidently not displeased her. 

For the first time he was enabled to get a good look at 
the young gentleman who was making himself so agree- 
able. There was no doubt he was very pleasant. It 
was quite as certain — and again the frown and almost 
a sneer — that there was nothing remarkably deep about 
him. Simply an ignorant business man. How well- 
dressed he was, too ! In the tip of the fashion. Frank 


CHANWOOD MEETS A LADY IN BLUE. 


59 


looked at his own clothes. No, they were not fash- 
ionable, although decent and gentlemanly. How weak 
it was to think of such things ! What difference did 
it make? There would come a day — a day when he 
would compel the reluctant world to acknowledge he 
had discovered something, and then — but, pshaw! what 
a fool he was to be irritated by such trifles ! 

Charley had said something witty, and both he and 
Grace were laughing. His voice and laugh were manly, 
anyhow. Why shouldn’t he dress well if he had the 
means to do it? To think ill of him on this account 
was envy, pure and simple. 

Besides, he was the friend of Professor Darcy. 
Frank remembered the offer and wondered if Charley 
meant it. He would put him to the test at least. 
He would go to “77 Harris Street and take the elevator 
on Chancy Street.” 

He looked up at the white bulky clouds moving 
majestically along in the ethereal blue, and began to 
dream. What manner of man was this Professor 
Darcy? Was he sympathetic? Did he ever have to 
struggle with the horrible monster of poverty? Did 
fate ever try to crush him by compelling him to drudge 
along in an uncongenial employment that the bread 
of life might be won ? 

And oh! if he were kind and listened to him! He 
would confide to him his cherished idea — his theory. 
He would tell him , but not another living being ! And 
he would ask him the problem that haunted him day 
and night — how to succeed f Professor Darcy might 
answer it. Who knows! 


60 


A STAGE COACH RIDE. 


CHAPTER Y. 

A STAGE COACH RIDE. 

J IM WATSON — or “Bowls” as he was generally 
called — had been driver of the Brementown and 
Arnottsville stage “ for nigh onto twenty years,” as he 
expressed it, and before that he had been out West 
and had driven an overland coach in the days before 
the locomotive had pushed across the continent. 

That he regarded himself as quite a remarkable man 
was evident by his look of pardonable pride, and the 
way he placed his arms akimbo when detailing his 
personal history, something which he was very fond 
of doing. If you were obliging enough to exhibit a 
proper degree of interest, and regarded him admiringly ^ 
you would straightway be rewarded with anecdotes 
of passengers, famous and infamous, whom he had car- 
ried; of experiences in stormy weather and drives 
through drifts of snow ; of marvelous adventures with 
Indians, robbers, and bandits, in which he invariably 
enacted the role of hero ; all of which were enjoyable 
enough to the party who had elected to take his seat on 
the box beside the loquacious driver, and assisted, not a 
little, in relieving the tedium of the journey. Implicit 
credulity, expressed if not experienced, was the price of 
the narratives, and even a doubting smile would cut 
short the most exciting story, and “Bowls” would 


A STAGE COACH RIDE. 


61 


immediately devote a savage attention to his horses, and 
preserve an impressive silence for the remainder of 
the trip. 

Charley Chanwood had left the boat at a point on the 
river where he was obliged to make railway connection 
with Arnottsville. His heart, he firmly believed, re- 
mained on the Mercury, and would return with it in 
company with a young girl attired in a navy blue dress. 
He had learned before parting that she and her brother 
were merely taking a day’s recreation, and he had been 
sorely tempted to return with them, but George Darcy 
was waiting for him, and he was too much of a business 
man to break an engagement. 

Now he was seated on the box with “ Bowls ” 
Watson, and nearing the ancient village of Brementown. 
He was not in his habitual good spirits, for he had 
met with a disappointment at Arnottsville. Upon his 
arrival there, he looked in vain for Darcy, whom he had 
expected to meet him with a conveyance. Added to 
this, an indistinct vision in blue and gold and a low 
sweet voice still ringing in his ears united to start a 
train of thoughts in his mind as near approaching 
melancholy as it was possible for one of his tempera- 
ment. 

“Bowls” himself was in an excellent humor, as he 
joyously cracked his whip again and again about the 
ears of his off leader, and dropped mile after mile 
behind him that measured the distance to Brementown. 

His manner was contagious, and it was not long 
before Charley caught the infection. 

“Never been down this way afore?” queried “Bowls,” 


62 


A STAGE COACH RIDE. 


as usual disposed to be sociable and gratify bis curios- 
ity at the same time. 

“Never before,” said Charley. 

“Business?” cautiously. 

“Not exactly.” 

“Oh! pleasure then?” 

“Something like that.” 

“I oughter knowed it,” remarked “Bowls,” after 
reflection; “no one don’t come to Brementown for 
business.” 

“It isn’t much of a business place then?” 

“Not to speak of,” said “Bowls” solemnly; “goin’ 
to stop at the hotel? ” 

“No; I am on a visit to a friend.” 

“Bowls” looked very much concerned. 

“I suppose you know where the ‘Mansion’ is?” 

“I suppose I do,” said “Bowls,” sententiously. 

“ Know Mrs. . Charter ? ” 

“All my life,” with an emphasis which implied 
he was Aunt Tabitha’s most intimate friend. 

“What kind of a person is she?” 

“Queer!” very quickly. 

“I thought so.” ■ 

“Didn’t you say she was a friend of yourn?” 

“I have no recollection of it. I referred to her 
nephew, Mr. Darcy. Acquainted with him?” 

“Ever since he was a boy,” said “Bowls.” 

“There is — ah — a young lady stopping at the ‘Man- 
sion’ now, isn’t there?” 

“You’re right, there is,” replied “ Bowls,” fervently : 
“and a mighty nice one she is, too!” 


A STAGE COACH HIDE. 


68 


“How old is she?” 

“She’s young enough,” said “Bowls,” after a pause. 
He was not very well versed in the art of determi- 
ning female age. 

“ Pretty, is she ? ” continued Charley, thinking less of 
the party to whom he was propounding the ques- 
tions, and more of the subject to whom they referred. 

“ Pretty ! ” exclaimed “ Bowls,” enthusiastically ; 
“that she is, and no mistake about it! I’ve seen a 
good many young women in my time, but I never seen 
any that could come up to her, or even a half-a-dozen 
lengths of her,” dropping into the sporting vernacular. 

“What style is she? I mean -” 

He remembered himself suddenly and stopped. The 
ludicrousness of asking a stage driver about • a 
woman’s style dawned upon him. - It was absurd to 
be caught by such a captor, and yet he could not for 
the life of him finish the sentence. 

“Well?” said “Bowls,” after a patient wait to see 
what he meant. 

“ Oh ! nothing,” said Charley, peevishly. 

“Bowls” turned upon him. 

“Look yere! Ye ain’t in love with her afore ye 
see her, air ye?” * 

This was too much for Charley, and he laughed 
loud and long. “Bowls” only smiled grimly. 

“Ye may laugh, but it’s my belief I hit the nail 
on the head,” said he. 

His shrewdly expressed suspicion seemed to set 
him ruminating over his own affairs. After awhile 
he said: 


64 


A STAGE COACH RIDE. 


“Mrs. Donovan knows everything that goes on at 
the ‘Mansion’ and she tells me ” 

“Who is Mrs. Donovan?” interrupted Charley. 

“She's Mrs. Charter’s cook — I forgot what ye said 
about not bein ’ down this way afore,” said “ Bowls,” 
confusedly. 

He was not an adept in concealing his feelings, and, 
to add to his Gonfusion, a telltale blush became plainly 
visible even through his ruddy complexion. Charley 
understood matters at once. “ Bowls ” was now the 
victim. 

“ My honesf friend, I have discovered your secret ; 
you love this fair Mrs. Donovan?” “Bowls” made a 
violent gesture of dissent. “Now, don’t deny it! I 
see it in you?; eye— I see Mrs. Donovan in your 
eye ! ” 

“Looky yere!” “Bowls” broke in, roughly, “1 don't 
want to pitch you off this yere coach, but the woman 
your talkin ’ about is a — downright lady ! ” 

This was all poor “ Bowls ” could say, but, as he 
pronounced Mrs. Donovan a “downright lady,” there 
came an ominous look into the distended orbs which 
stared so fiercely at Charley Chanwood. 

“ Of course, she’s a downright lady,” said that gen- 
tleman, placidly ; “ and that is the reason you think 
so much of her. No man would want a better one.” 

The handsome tribute to Mrs. Donovan not only 
mollified the irate “Bowls” but made him thoroughly 
ashamed of his rudeness. He was vainly endeavoring 
to frame an apology in his mind, when Charley said: 

“Have a cigar?” 


A STAGE COACH RIDE. 


65 


He timidly accepted a weed, and vowed inwardly 
that the young man was of the right sort. It be- 
came his manifest duty to make up for his momen- 
tary anger by excessive affability. 

“ Old Farber’s got his barn painted again,” he began, 
pointing out the interesting object with his whip ; 
“his house is down behind that hill, an’ he’s got it 
painted, too — all yeller an’ red — an’ he’s got a gover- 
ness down here from the city, teachin’ his girls 
French an’ no end o’ pianny playin’.” 

This seemed to amuse him greatly, as if the lauda- 
ble ambition of Farber was very ludicrous. 

“Hello! Thompson, my boy!” he cried out to a 
smoke-begrimed blacksmith, who had dropped a 
horse’s hoof from his lap and come to the door of 
his shop to see the .stage go by. 

Thompson grinned broadly, flourished his brawny 
arm, and then retired within his semi-infernal abode, 
where he expatiated on the abilities of “ Bowls ” — im- 
aginary and real — to the few loiterers always found 
in such places, declaring that “Bowls” was the best 
horseman in the country, and had risen from an 
humble stable-boy to his present exalted position by 
dint of his own unaided efforts, and was now an 
honor to himself, his country and to Thompson. 

“I’m blessed! if here ain’t ‘Crazy Dick! ’ ” “Bowls” 
next exclaimed. “ How de do, old man ? ” 

The stage rattled on, leaving the poor idiot, envel- 
oped in a cloud of dust, gazing after the receding 
coach with vacant - stare. They had now gained the 
top of a hill, after much panting and blowing on the 
5 


66 


A STAGE COACH RIDE. 


part of the horses, and lazy indifference on the part 
of “Bowls.” The summit reached, a new duty de- 
volved upon him. 

Brementown lay at the foot of the hill, about half 
a mile further on, and he considered it not only pro- 
per, but absolutely essential, that the stage should 
enter the town at extraordinary speed, in conformity 
with the time- honored custom of all stage drivers, 
which is supposed to owe its origin to an all-abiding 
conviction that an insane rush at the end of a jour- 
ney delude the uninitiated into believing it the usual 
rate of speed. 

So “Bowls” gathered up the reins, gave an un- 
earthly yell, cracked his whip until it sounded like a 
premature discharge of fireworks, and away went the 
whole concern, tearing down the hill with frightful 
velocity. The horses galloped, and the stage jolted 
and bounded into the air, and darted from one side of 
the road to the other. It seemed that its last mo- 
ments had come. Not so, however, for it was a tough 
old stage and this was its daily experience. It 
had been in no particular haste during the last few 
miles, and had rolled along in a leisurely way quite 
aggravating to witness, yet all the time it had been 
bracing and nerving itself for the exciting finish. 
Now, it appeared to be imbued with life and actually 
enjoying the delirious abandon of its erratic descent 
into Brementown. 

Some of the passengers did not share its sensations. 
They had been complaining of its sluggishness, and 
were now completely surprised and terrified. 


A STAGE COACH RIDE. 


67 


A middle-aged gentleman, who had been bobbing 
his head about in a sleepily uncertain way, now shot 
straight up to the roof of the vehicle, and by bringing 
his silk hat in contact therewith succeeded in transform- 
ing it into something very much resembling an 
accordeon. Opposite him, a motherly old lady, whose 
countenance had betokened a sweet patience and 
resignation, together with a firm belief that the journey 
— like everything else — would have an end, now ex- 
hibited the greatest agitation, and earne -^y besought 
the gentleman with the accordeon-hat to to i the driver 
to stop the stage. To tell the driver to stop was among 
the existing possibilities, but to stop it was not. The 
gentleman appealed to was as much interested as the 
motherly old lady in having it done, so grasping the 
sides of the window, he leaned out and shouted : 

“ Driver! ” 

“Hi! yi!” yelled “Bowls,” standing on the box 
and giving volley after volley of whip explosions. 

“Driver! Driver! What do you mean? Do you 
want to kill us! Stop the stage!” 

u Hi ! yi ! Git up yere, you Jim ! Move along there, 
Dolly, my girl!” came from the enthusiastic artist on 
the box. 

Charley was holding tightly to his seat, yet seemed 
to enjoy the exhibition of horsemanship. 

“ Driver ! Dri — ” 

A violent lurch interrupted the middle-aged gentle- 
man, and caused him to pull in his head very promptly. 
As he did so, his hat was swept off and fell into the 
road. His head was out again in a second. 


68 


A STAGE COACH RIDE. 


“ I’ve lost my hat ! I’ve lost my hat ! Stop ! Stop ! ” 

“Hurray!” screamed “Bowls.” in the plentitude of 
his ecstacy. 

The middle-aged gentleman again pulled in hi's head 
— this time voluntary— and, sitting down upon the 
seat with unnecessary decision, made use of some 
language altogether distasteful to ears polite, especially 
those of an elderly female. The old lady, terrified as 
she was by the way the stage was being driven, and 
horrified by the language of the middle-aged gentle- 
man, did not faint, as would have been eminently 
proper under the circumstances, but, clasping her hands 
in an agony of fright, emitted scream upon scream as 
only a thoroughly excited motherly old soul could 
do. Above the rattling of the wheels, the creaking 
of the timber, the galloping of the horses and his 
own melodious voice, “ Bowls ” W atson heard those 
feminine shrieks. The driver of the Brementown and 
Arnottsville stage “for nigh onto twenty years” was 
an humble slave to a woman’s voice even when not 
pitched to any great altitude. 

“All right, mum! Don’t be frightened, mum! — no 
danger— one minute, mum — almost there now; let you 
out in half a jiffy; purty near there, mum — purty 
near. Here we are — here we are!” and, with these 
words, he was holding open the door of the stage at 
“ Gardner’s Inn.” 

“Good laws! man — are you crazy?” gasped the old 
lady. 

“Crazy?” said “Bowls;” “I guess not — got to 
get here on time, you know.” 


A STAGE COACH RIDE. 


69 


“Would you have been here on time, if your mis- 
erable old trap had broken down and killed us all ? ” 
demanded the middle-aged gentleman, wrathfully. 

“Bowls” looked at him comically, scratched his 
head, and remarked that in that case he reckoned not. 

“ I’ll hire a conveyance to get out of this infernal 
town. I wouldn’t undergo that experience again for 
all I’m worth!” 

“Oh! as to that,” said the imperturbable “Bowls,” 
“there’s no danger about going back. Ye see we 
have to go up hill then, and I never drives that way 
up hill!” 

“Don’t, hey? Very funny — very funny,” retorted 
the middle-aged gentleman, more incensed than ever, 
for the colloquy had attracted a crowd, who laughed 
at his discomfiture and evidently sympathized with 
the murderous “Bowls.” “There’s my hat, too — lost 
by your idiotic recklessness! Do you suppose the 
owners of the coach will furnish me with another ? ” 

“Can’t say, sir. I’ve been driver of the Bremen- 
town and Arnottsville stage for nigh onto twenty 
years, and I’ve got the first one to git from them. 
Perhaps, as you be a stranger and without friends, 
they might give you one!” 

The laugh that greeted this speech was too much 
for the endurance of the irascible traveler, and, mur- 
muring something about the impudence of drivers in 
general, and of “ Bowls ” in particular, he withdrew 
to the bar-room of “Gardner’s Inn.” 


70 


MR. KIFT. 


CHAPTEK YI. 

MR. KIFT. 

T HE indignation of tlie middle-aged gentleman was 
of no ordinary character. Stalking up to the 
bar of “Gardner’s Inn,” he demanded, savagely, of its 
bland proprietor: 

“What is the name of that driver?” 

“‘Bowls’ Watson, sir.” 

“He’s a d — d rascal!” 

The landlord said nothing; a troubled expression 
came into his face. He was an experienced landlord, 
and forbore, on business principles, to quarrel with 
his guests. The irate gentleman looked defiantly 
around the room, where several of the village good-for- 
nothings were lounging, as if to invite contradiction, 
but none was forthcoming. They were all, with one 
accord, considering the possibility of being invited to 
drink, and, however much they might privately dis- 
sent from the stranger’s opinion of “Bowls,” they, also 
on business principles, did not think it politic to express 
their views. But when the new comer turned his 
• back upon them, called for whiskey and water, drank 
it with a gulp, and strode out of the room, their ex- 
ecrations were loud and deep. 

“He is a nice one now, isn’t he?” said the land- 
lord, complacently, propping his elbows on the bar 


MR. KIFT. 


71 


and letting his chin fall into his hands; “sour as a 
crab-apple, he is. It’ll be a happy day for his wife 
when she’s a widow!” and Gardner laughed boister- 
ously, as if he had said a very good thing. 

Meanwhile the subject of his comments repaired to 
his room in no very enviable frame of mind. Thrust- 
ing his hands deep into his trousers’ pockets, he walk- 
ed to a window and stood gazing out with lowering 
brows. He was a small, thin, wiry man, whose ap- 
pearance betokened him to be forty-five or fifty years 
of age. His hair was what might be called a dirty 
white, that is it was neither a respectable gray nor a 
respectable white. There was little or none of it on 
the top of his head, but a patch of it went straight 
down the back of his neck into his collar, and two 
other patches shot out from the sides of his face 
above his ears, just as penholders do when stuck in 
those convenient racks. Small fiery black eyes under 
heavy eyebrows, thin lips and pinched features made 
up a countenance which could never be called pleas- 
ant even under the most favorable circumstances. 

Although the encounter with “ Bowls ” had irritated 
him, it was clear that something else had likewise 
excited his anger. Nervously he walked back and 
forth, keeping up a peevish muttering. A knock was 
heard at the door, and he wheeled around with great 
precision. 

“Come in!” 

An overgrown country boy entered, deposited the 
gentleman’s traveling bag in a corner, and turned to 
depart. 


72 


MR. KIFT. 


“ Do you belong here ? ” 

The boy admitted he did. 

“ Do you go about the town much ? ” 

“Well, some, sir,” was the grammatical reply. 

“ Haye you seen any strange person in the town 
lately?” 

“ Strange person ? ” echoed the boy, in stupid wonder. 

“Yes, strange person; any queer sort of a party, 
you understand, who don’t belong here — drunk or 
sober, it makes no difference!” 

“ Eh ? ” said the boy, terrified at the man’s impa- 
tient manner, and doubtful if he heard aright. 

“Get out of here or I’ll kill you!” screamed his 
questioner, in a frightful explosion of wrath. 

The boy lost no time in obeying. 

The lad having withdrawn, the middle-aged gentle- 
man gradually became more composed. Taking out 
his watch, he noted the time. The traveling bag 
was then opened, and a soft hat taken out of it, the 
possession of which seemed to give the gentleman 
genuine satisfaction. Then carefully locking the bag, 
he went down the stairs and out into the village. 

Selecting the main road, he walked along with a 
quick, nervous gait, looking sharply to the right and 
left, and occasionally mopping his forehead with an 
immense red handkerchief. He had gotten out of the 
town and had stopped in a hesitating way, as if in 
doubt whether to go any further. Suddenly his eyes 
caught sight of an object a few rods in advance. He 
walked up to it. He seemed to have found what . he 
had been searching for. 


MR. KIFT. 


73 


He was a drunken man, lying on the side of the 
road, face downward. His clothes were torn and be- 
daubed with mud; his bare feet protruded from his 
broken shoes; a ragged slouch hat had fallen from 
his head, showing his gray hairs and part of his un- 
shaven face. An empty whiskey bottle beside him 
told a portion of the man’s history. 

The middle-aged gentleman paused, folded his arms 
and contemplated the miserable specimen of humanity 
before him. Then he advanced and deliberately be- 
gan to kick the prostrate form. 

The drunken man opened his bleared eyes, fixed 
them stupidly upon his assailant for a moment, and 
then, struggling to his feet, staggered menacingly 
towards him. The other, though much the smaller of 
the two, threw out his arm and grabbed him by the 
throat. 

“You drunken fool! Don’t you know me?” 

A ray of intelligence came into the drunkard’s eye. 

“Mr. Kift!” 

“How long have you been here?” demanded Mr. 
Kift, angrily. “What made you leave the city? Do 
you suppose I have nothing to do but keep track of 
your infernal movements?” 

The man was somewhat sobered, but either could 
not or would not answer the testy interrogatives. 

“I know what you are here for,” Mr. Kift went on, 
more angry than ever; “you want to go to that 
house? Have you been there?” 

“N — n — o,” said the drunkard, sullenly. 

“Well, I’m glad of that, at all events. Now, follow 


74 


MR. KIFT. 


me back to the hotel. No, sir,” as the drunken 
party made an effort to take his arm; “you don’t ex- 
pect a decent man would be seen with you in that 
condition, do you? You must follow me, though, and 
immediately. If you do not,” impressively, “you and 
I will have done with each other!” 

“Guv’nor.” 

“What do you want?” 

“Give me ten dollars?” 

“Not a cent; you’re drunk enough already. ' Obey 
my directions and I will reward you; disobey them 
and you get nothing.” So saying, Mr. Kiffc started 
away. 

A man appeared in the bend of the road — a big, 
burly, red-faced man. Mr. Kift saw him and quick- 
ened his footsteps. The man, however, had evidently 
seen the two engaged in conversation before Mr. Kift 
discovered him. On he came, whistling loudly and 
accompanying the music by cracking his whip. When 
he reached the drunken man, who was sitting discon- 
solately on a stone, “Bowls” stopped and regarded 
him with a* grieved air. 

“I see you are still enjoyin’ yourself, Deacon! 
How does the country around here suit your constitu- 
tion? Now that your whiskey’s gone, you ought to 
try and brace up!” he said, as he touched the bottle 
with his foot. 

The man muttered an oath and turned his back on 
the loquacious driver, which in no manner disturbed 
his equanimity. 

“Well, well, hard words hurt none but the speaker. 


MR. KIFT. 


75 


What I was a sayin’ was for your own good. It is 
a sad thing to see a man o’ the church agoin’ on in 
this way — it is, indeed! I hope you’ll live to see the 
error of your ways, with which parting words, 
Deacon, I will tear myself away.” 

As he resumed his walk, he again saw Mr. Kift 
ahead of him. For the first time he recognized his 
irascible passenger, and giving a long whistle, which 
began in a very low note and ended in a very high 
one, he started to overtake him. When the whistling 
and whip cracking came nearer and nearer, Mr. Kift 
divined the object of the dreaded “ Bowls,” and made 
a superhuman effort to keep in advance, but it was 
futile, for his stride was short and uncertain, whilst 
that of “Bowls” was long and swinging. 

“How are you now, sir?” said “Bowls,” when he 
had gotten abreast of him. 

Mr. Kift took no notice of the salutation, but slack- 
ened his pace as if to fall in the rear. 

“Bowls” felt offended. He had made the conven- 
tional inquiry with the honest intention of restoring 
good feeling between the gentleman and himself. 

His independent spirit at once asserted itself when 
he saw how his overture was received. At once he 
became coolly aggravating and impudent. 

“Friend of yours?” he asked, nonchalantly, shoot- 
ing his thumb back over his shoulder in the direction 
of the drunken man. At the same time he consid- 
erately accommodated his step to that of Mr. Kift. 

No answer. 

“ Oh I I understand,” he continued, contentedly, as if 


76 


MR. KIFT. 


Mr. Kift had vouchsafed an entirely satisfactory ex- 
planation; “merely a chance acquaintance! Strange 
how one picks them up, isn’t it? Here you are, 
only an hour or so in town and what do you do? 
Go mopin’ ’round and ’round, feelin’ lonelier every 
minute? No, siree! You ain’t that kind of a man! 
You’re a sociable man — you are! You jist look about 
you, and soon as you find another jolly gentleman 
like yourself, you sidle up to him, and then you both 
enjoy yourselves! Hope I didn’t interrupt you as I 
came along ? ” 

If his object was to incense the gentleman who 
had treated him so shabbily, he was successful. Mr. 
Kift turned upon him; his face was livid with sup- 
pressed rage. He looked as if he could have killed 
“ Bowls,” then and there, had he the physical strength 
and courage to do it. He found some difficulty in 
articulating at all, but finally managed to say: 

“ Will you oblige me by attending to your business, 
and leaving me to mine ? ” 

* “ My business ? I haven’t got no special business 
jist now — stage don’t go back ’till three o’clock, 
ye know!” and he smiled pleasantly. 

“Will you oblige me by allowing me to walk 
by myself?” 

“Certainly, if you wish it. Thought you needed a 
little good company, but, of course, if you don’t want 
it, don’t take it. Good-day, sir! I’ll look for your 
hat as I drive back!” 

“Bowls” gave him a mock bow, and resumed his 
walk with the same accompaniment of whistle and 


MR. KIFT. 


77 


whip. Mr. Kift waited until lie was out of sight, 
and then returned to “Gardner’s Inn.” 

The drunken man still sat by the roadside. He 
picked up the empty bottle and dashed it against a 
stone in disgust and disappointment. Then he buried 
his head in his hands, whilst the midsummer sun 
glared fiercely down upon him. 

The pangs of shame and remorse troubled him 
naught; he was thinking how he would get possession 
of some money. Kift would give him none. And 
Kift thought he controlled him, did he? Kift must 
not be too confident; he was not afraid of him. He 
must obey him, must he? What if he did not? 
What could Kift do about it? He would see — he 
would disobey him; he would go to the house! 

He rose to his feet and stood irresolutely. 

“I’ll do it,” he said, laughing discordantly; “I’ll 
teach old Kift a lesson! The idea of such a thing! — 
Bill Norton teaching old Kift a lesson!” 

The terrible laugh was repeated again and again. 
He looked down the road that led into the town, and, 
shaking his head obstinately, staggered slowly away 
in the opposite direction. 


78 


THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 

W HEN* Mr. Chanwood arrived at Brementown, 
lie became positively angry. George Darcy 
was not even there to meet him, nor had he sent a 
carriage. Charley’s first impulse was to get a horse, 
gallop back to the railroad, get out of the country, 
and make it the absorbing study of his life to forget 
that there was ever such a person as George Darcy. 
The impulse was of short duration. He had no over- 
weening desire to do anything foolish, and felt sure 
that such a proceeding would afford George inexhausti- 
ble amusement, as well as their mutual acquaintances. 
And he was no less confident that George would 
find it out, and be very energetic in circulating the 
story. Worse than that, he feared if he did such a 
thing he would soon be laughing at himself. It 
would, indeed, be galling if Mr. Chanwood should ap- 
pear ridiculous in the eyes of Mr. Chanwood! 

A new idea occurred to him : he would indite a dig- 
nified and formal note to George, acquainting that 
gentleman with the fact that, in obedience to his in- 
vitation, the writer was then at Brementown, and was 
respectfully desirous of knowing what disposition was 
to be made of his body. It would make George feel 
deliciously awkward, and he himself would have the 


THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 


79 


pleasure of posing as a friend whose sensibilities had 
been gratuitously and rudely offended. The idea was 
certainly tempting. But then again there was the 
possibility of George taking the whole affair as a joke 
and not feeling a bit awkward about it. No; his 
way was clear; he must go to the “ Mansion ;” his 
dignity must be sacrificed. Besides, there were those 
lines in that letter, “No one is staying here at present, 
except a friend of my Aunt, a Miss Frone.” No mat- 
ter what other considerations there might be, this must 
be inquired into. 

The impulse, born of the thought, was acted upon 
instantly. Gardner was at once interviewed. 

“How far is the ‘Mansion’ from here?” 

“’Bout a mile.” 

“Have you a rig that can take me there?” 

“Certainly, sir, certainly. Want to go now, do ye? 
Be ready in a few minutes, sir,” said Gardner, hurry- 
ing away. 

“Hold on!” exclaimed Charley. 

“Certainly, sir, certainly.” 

“Let me see your rig.” 

“Certainly, sir, certainly,” said the urbane Gardner, 
leading the way to the stables, where he proudly 
exhibited a vehicle as old as Brementown itself 
Around the top of it hung a border of faded fringe. 

“Never mind,” said Charley, resignedly; “I’ll walk.” 

“Just as you please, sir. Shall I send your bag- 
gage after you?” 

“Yes; send it at once.” 

“Certainly, sir, certainly.” 


80 


THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 


Charley lighted a cigar, looked at the dusty road, 
from the road to his shining patent leathers, and, heav- 
ing a sigh full of woe, set out with grim determina- 
tion imprinted upon his face. 

Violet Frone sat reading a magazine on the porch 
of the old lodge house. She had gone as far as she 
could from the “Mansion” without leaving the grounds. 
Apparently she was deeply interested in her reading, 
and utterly indifferent to bugs and crawling insects. 
At times she looked around quickly, as if she expect- 
ed to be surprised by some one. And yet her thoughts 
were not on the pages of the book, for five minutes 
elapsed and not a leaf was turned. 

All this George Darcy saw. He had started out on 
an aimless ramble, and had come upon her suddenly. 

“Good-morning, Miss Frone.” 

She looked up and saw him standing there, resting 
slightly on his cane, which he held behind him. A 
momentary confused and guilty expression came into 
her face, but the next instant her eyes flashed indig- 
nantly as she saw, or thought she saw, an amused 
smile play over his lips. 

“Good-morning, Mr. Darcy,” rather stately. 

“It is somewhat late to say ‘good-morning,’ and yet 
it is the first opportunity I have had.” 

He rested his arms negligently upon the railing of 
the porch, and looked frankly into her face. She 
closed the magazine, folded her hands in her lap, and 
gazed steadily away from him, as she said: 

“Would the loss of such an opportunity distress 
you very much?” 


THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 


81 


“No, I do not suppose it would distress me, out it 
would be a lost pleasure. I have seen very little of 
you since I have been here.” 

“I hope what you have seen is satisfactory!’’ 

“Quite,” said Darcy, emphatically. 

“Because if it isn’t,” continued Violet, “you have 
only to tell me what I have to do in order to please 
you, and I shall endeavor to do it.” 

“Do you mean that?” 

“Can you doubt me?” 

“I will not if you say so. I would say then that 
I would like if you would allow me to see a little 
more of you.” 

“I have not forbidden you.” 

“You have kept out of my way.” 

“Indeed, Mr. Darcy,” she said, irritated by the ap- 
parent conceit, “you flatter yourself and you flatter me!” 

“You misunderstand me, Miss Frone. I feel very 
far from flattering myself. Aunt Tab said that you 
were her daily companion. I have been with her 
almost constantly, but did not see you. Was it not 
natural, therefore, I should think that I had some- 
thing to do with your absence?” 

“ If that is the case it was very considerate of you 
to hunt me up this morning.” 

“I beg your pardon; I have not hunted you up; I 
came upon you quite accidentally. I will go away, if 
you wish it.” 

He was about to depart when Violet stopped him. 

“I — I — don’t wish it,” she said, frightened at her 
own rudeness; “that is I don’t want you to go away 


82 


THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 


■under such, an impression. The fact is I supposed 
you desired your Aunt’s society alone, during the few 
days you intended to be here.” 

“The few days? Are you only going to allow me 
to remain a few days?” 

“There is no occasion, Mr. Darcy, for you to treat 
me like a child,” said Violet, spiritedly, feeling that 
after all her adversary was getting the better of her; 
“you know as well as any one that I have nothing to 
do with your movements.” 

“A moment ago you were about to send me away 
from this very spot.” 

“There was another reason,” continued Violet, affect- 
ing not to hear his last remark ; “ I was informed you 
considered the ‘Mansion’ a retreat where uninterrupt- 
ed you could pursue your studies.” 

“Studies! I didn’t come here to study!” 

“ No ? ” — with maddening indifference — “ perhaps I 
was mistaken; you cannot blame me if your actions 
do not interest me as much as they do yourself.” 

“I am not a fool!” said Darcy, shortly. 

Violet said nothing, and tapped her foot impatiently 
on the floor of the porch. It was too provoking, she 
thought, that, after the whole place had been resigned 
to this lordly young man, she should not be permitted 
to find one refuge where she might not be forced to 
do him homage. He had said that study was not 
his object in coming. Whatever it was, he was evi- 
dently too self-indulgent to deny himself recreation, 
and, no doubt, the only amusement that occurred to 
him at present was a mild flirtation with the young 


THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 


83 


lady visiting his Aunt. He never questioned but 
that she would be only too happy to respond to his 
advances. It would be such a pleasant thing to say 
to his friends at the club, “I say, J forgot to tell you 
I had a real jolly flirtation with a girl stopping at 
my Aunt’s; I enjoyed it hugely.” 

“I fear you misjudge me,” said Darcy, breaking the 
pause and looking at her in sorrowful earnestness. 

The words were so aptly spoken in conjunction 
with her thoughts that she was actually frightened, 
and regarded him inquiringly, half suspecting he 
knew what had been passing in her mind. She re- 
gained her composure in a moment. 

“How could I, when I have not even taken your 
case under consideration?” 

This was not strictly true, but she thought circum- 
stances justified the remark. 

“I wish you would do so, and give me a fair 
hearing. I believe you entertain a wrong idea of my 
character.” 

“I have no doubt you have a very good character,” 
she said, lightly. 

He bit his lip, but did not reply. She was just 
beginning to think she had been too severe upon 
him, and was studying some pacific thing to say, 
when they were both startled by the sound of wheels. 
Slowly entering the gate was a very sedate horse 
attached to an old-fashioned carriage, the top of 
which was ornamented with faded fringe. The driver 
was the shock-headed country boy, whom Mr. Kift 
had so badly terrified. Strapped behind the contri- 


84 


THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 


vance was Mr. Chanwood’s trunk, and inside were a 
couple of valises, three canes, a fishing rod and an 
overcoat. 

The appearance of the carriage, the solemnity of 
the horse, and the surprised look of the boy were so 
comical that Violet and Darcy laughed heartily in 
concert. 

When two people laugh together, there is a truce to 
all unpleasantness between them. 

The sound of their laughter confused the boy, and 
he brought the horse to a stand. There was no ap- 
parent reason for this action, but the boy thought 
otherwise. It was part of his daily experience to be 
brought up shortly and compelled to give an account 
of himself. Possibly he may have seen such a deter- 
mination on Darcy’s face. He was too sluggish by 
nature to deny any person’s authority to question 
him, and invariably submitted to any catechism that 
might be propounded. Whatever else might be said 
about Gardner’s boy, no one ever accused him of 
wilful disobedience. 

“ Whose trunk have you there ? ” asked Darcy. 

“ Eh ?■” 

Gardner’s boy always said “eli?” when spoken to, 
not that he ever failed to hear what was said to him, 
but because it necessitated a repetition of the remark 
or question, and thus gave him time to digest fully 
not only what was said but whether there was any 
sinister purpose in saying it, as well as allowed him 
a period to formulate an approximately intelligent 
reply. 


THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 


85 


“ Whose trunk have you there?” repeated Darcy. 

“A gentleman’s,” said Gardner’s boy, visibly trium- 
phant in having answered the question and imparted 
no information. 

“It looks like one, but whose is it?” 

“Eh?” 

Darcy walked to the rear of the carriage and ex- 
amined the trunk. Inscribed in large black letters on 
one end of it were the words “ Charles Chamoood ’.” 

“What!” exclaimed Darcy, when the name had 
caught his eye. 

“Eh?” said Gardner’s boy, twisting his head out of 
the carriage. 

“Where is Mr. Chanwood?” 

“I dunno,” ,said the boy. 

“But haven’t you got his trunk?” 

“I dunno,” was the dogged response. 

“Who told you to fetch this here?” 

“Eh?” 

“ Who gave you this trunk ?” — loudly and sternly. 

“Mr. Gardner, sir.” 

“Where did he get it?” 

“I dunno.” 

“Well, go ahead with it.” 

Gardner’s boy got out of the carriage, picked up 
the reins which he had allowed to fall from his hands 
and resumed his driving. 

Darcy went back to Violet. 

“I am very much surprised,” he said, “to learn that 
a friend of mine has arrived in Brementown. I did 
not expect him before Thursday.” 


86 


THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 


“Is it Mr. Chanwood?” 

“It is no other,” said Darcy, in astonishment; “how 
did you guess it? I do not remember mentioning 
the fact, or even his name.” 

“You certainly did not in my presence,” said Violet, * 
highly relishing his perplexity. 

“I will owe him an apology for not meeting him. 
He may not mind it, for he is one of the best-natured 
fellows I ever knew.” 

“I presume from that you would have been more 
careful if he were more punctilious?” 

“I am very careful with you, Miss Frone.” 

“I am not at all punctilious,” answered Violet, with 
a shrug of her shoulders. 

“Then I am a very poor observer,” he said, smi- 
ling. “I must go now and rectify my mistake as soon 
as possible by sending Mr. Chanwood a carriage.” 

He bowed and walked rapidly away. Violet imme- 
diately made a pretense of resuming her reading very 
energetically, but had Darcy chosen to look back he 
would have caught her regarding his retreating figure 
with interest. When he had disappeared, the magazine 
was thrown aside impatiently, and she rose to her 
feet and strolled towards the gate and out into the 
road. She stood there for a moment, as if # she were 
not certain what to do with herself, and then turned 
to re-enter the grounds. 

A drunken man stood before her, swaying to and 
fro. He had probably been leaning against one of 
the gate posts, and she had not noticed him as she 
passed out. She was mute with fright. 


THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 


87 


“Don’t be frightened, my pretty miss,” said Norton, 
leering hideously; “I won’t harm you.” 

Summoning up all her courage, she made an effort 
to dart past him. He intercepted her and grasped 
her by the wrist. 

“ I said I wouldn’t harm you, and I won’t if you 
answer me some questions. Who are you?” 

She saw it was useless to scream, for no one was 
within hearing, and, if she did so, the man might in- 
jure her. Revolting as it was, she must parley with 
him. 

“I am a girl and you are a man! Is this the con- 
duct of one?” 

“May be not, but, perhaps, my young lady, you 
don’t know why I ask? It was to see a girl like 
you that I came here to-day. What’s your name?” 

“Violet Frone,”-she answered, trembling and vainly 
attempting to release her wrist. 

“Frone? That’s the name! You’re the girl!” 

“What do you mean?” she cried, in an agony of 
terror. 

“You don’t remember the time you were called 
‘Little Maggie,’ do you? That was a good while 
ago, and you were too young ” 

“Oh! sir! whoever you are, and whatever you 
want, I implore you to release * me ! There must be 
some manhood in you! Why should you torture a 
defenceless girl?” 

“Because he is a miserable, worthless tramp!” cried 
Charley Chanwood, taking the luckless Norton by the 
collar of his coat and flinging him into the middle of 


88 


THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 


the road, much as he won " have done with an 
empty sack. 

Norton slowly picked himself up, cursing frightfully 
in his impotent rage. Charley did not even conde- 
scend to look at him, but, bowing gallantly, addressed 
himself to Violet: 

“Am I correct in supposing you are Miss Frone?” 

The color was just returning to her face. So rapid 
had been the transition from danger to safety she had 
hardly had the time to comprehend it. She would 
have worshipped any rescuer at such a moment, but, 
when she raised her eyes, she saw before her a typi- 
cal hero in the handsome blonde young gentleman, 
who had just given such practical evidence of the 
strength of his arm. A great flood of gratitude 
rushed to her heart, but it was some time before she 
could' speak. 

“I am Miss Frone; I presume you are Mr. Chan- 
wood?” 

“That is my name.” 

“Flow can I ever thank you, Mr. Chanwood, for 
your noble conduct?” 

“Don’t attempt it,” said Charley. “Call it noble to 
take a tramp by the collar and pitch him out of the 
way? Absurd! Now if you had been in the grasp 
of an Italian brigand, with a knife in his teeth and 
an arsenal of murderous weapons around his waist!” 

“Awful!” said Violet. 

u Or a dark South Sea Islander,” Charley went on, 
soothingly, “who had eaten nothing for a couple of 
weeks!” 


THE TRAMP AN T ' THE BLONDE HERO. 


89 


'‘‘Horrible!” ejaculate Wiolet, shuddering. 

“Then, in either of the mentioned cases, there might 
be some glory in a rescue.” 

Only the comical side of the adventure presented 
itself to his mind, and he broke out, after a pause: 

“It was a strange way to make your acquaintance, 
wasn’t it?” 

She had not altogether recovered from her fright, 
and yet she could not help laughing with him. He 
did not know how she appreciated his purpose of re- 
assuring her by treating the whole matter so lightly. 

They were gradually approaching the “Mansion.” 
Again she attempted to express her gratitude. 

“Disagreeable as were the circumstances of our 
meeting, Mr. Chanwood, I feel that our acquaintance 
will be more pleasant. I will never forget your gen- 
erous aid.” 

She brought the full force of her glorious eyes to 
bear upon him, and he was barely able to suppress 
an exclamation of admiration. Instantly he was in 
the seventh heaven of bliss, but he went on depreca- 
ting his chivalry. 

“You attach altogether too much importance to 
the small service I rendered. Why, your very dog 
would have done what I did! — that is if you have a 
dog!” 

“I have no dog,” laughing at the eminently practi- 
cal speech. 

“You ought to get one by all means.” 

“I have little use for one; I am very well attended 
here — almost too well.” 


90 


THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 


Charley looked at her narrowly. 

“I have a request to make of you, Mr. Chanwood 
— that you will say nothing to Mrs. Charter or Mr. 
Darcy about the occurrence.” 

“Never!” cried Charley, with all the earnestness of 
his soul. 

“Thank you,” she said; “Mrs. Charter would not 
allow me to go to the old lodge house again, which 
is a lovely place in which to read, and Mr. Darcy 
would be so solicitous about my welfare that he 
would never let me out of his sight.” 

They looked up and saw Darcy coming towards 
them. 

“Charley, my dear fellow,” he exclaimed, grasping 
his friend’s hand, “T throw myself upon your mercy! 
You write such a wretched hand that I thought it 
was Thursday, instead of Tuesday, you wrote you 
were coming.” 

He caught sight of Violet and was at a loss to 
know where she had come from. 

“Miss Frone, permit me to present my friend, Mr. 
Chanwood.” 

Charley was considerably taken aback when Violet 
gave him a graceful inclination of her head, as if she 
had never before seen him. He understood her at 
once. 

He was then taken to the library, where Aunt Ta- 
bitha was sitting. She eyed him critically, though not 
unkindly, and asked him if his mother was not a 
Miss Jenkins and, being answered in the affirmative, 
said she knew her very well a long time ago. 


THE TRAMP AND THE BLONDE HERO. 


91 


He then went with Darcy to his room. Sinking 
into an easy-chair, he looked steadfastly at his friend. 

“George, you have deceived me!” 

“I am delighted to hear it,” replied Darcy. 

“Why did you try to keep me away from here?” 

“Upon my word, Charley, you have very queer 
notions of my hospitality!” 

“Have you begun that scientific article yet?” 

“No; I suppose I will have to give it up, now.” 

“For what reason?” 

“Your presence; I never could do anything in par- 
ticular whilst in your company.” 

“If you don’t begin that article immediately, I’ll 
leave this place to-morrow! Don’t think of me for 
an instant! This is a perfectly beautiful place, and 
I can get along very well without your company. I 
have observed also that there is other company here.” 


92 


NOT HIS DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

NOT HIS DAUGHTER. 

* 6 IFT & KENLY, Counselors at Law,” was an 
IV inscription upon a small tin sign adorning 
No. 14 Chancery Court. The sign was old and dilap- 
idated, but it still held out an invitation for the in- 
quiring to enter and obtain the benefit of the advice 
and assistance of those able attorneys, Messrs. Kift 
and Kenly. As a matter of fact, however, Mr. Kenly 
had long ago been incapacitated from rendering assis- 
tance of any kind, having been relegated to that mys- 
terious country where writs of error and demurrers 
to pleadings are held in but slight esteem. The sign 
yet remained, and those who wanted to see Mr. Kenly 
went into the office and saw Mr. Kift, and seldom left 
without employing him. 

Erasmus Kift had a large and lucrative practice. 
Notwithstanding this fact, he could make claim to 
little or no popularity. His professional brethren, 
though they envied him his income and remarkable 
success, regarded him with anything but a friendly 
eye. They thought his methods were not always above 
criticism, and there were those who made more seri- 
ous charges against him. His greed was proverbial, 
and it was said that when a client presented himself 
his first thought was not of the case, but of the fee! 


NOT HIS DAUGHTER. 


93 


He was intimate with nobody, and it was question- 
able if there was one among his numerous clients who 
had a liking for him, but he kept their patronage by 
the zeal and ability with which he guarded their in- 
terests. Looked upon as a cold, passionless man, un- 
lovable and unloving, he still compelled the unanimous 
recognition of great legal acumen, indomitable energy 
and unwavering perseverance most wonderful to con- 
template. Without a family, without any known rel- 
atives, he eschewed society of every sort, and when 
not at his office was generally to be found at his bach- 
elor apartments. 

An uncongenial companion w#s his clerk, Frank 
Harper, who sat in his office busily engaged in mak- 
ing copies. It was a day or two after his trip on 
the river. Manifold were the papers to be copied 
and he worked on determinedly, putting aside the 
sheets when finished in a mechanical way, apparently 
undismayed by the quantity of matter yet to be ? 
done. No wonder Mr. Kift gave a grim smile of 
satisfaction, as he stood looking down upon him 
through the glass partition of the office. Few attor- 
neys had so good a clerk as Mr. Kift. 

Only a year before Frank Harper had delivered the 
valedictory of his class at college, where he had been en- 
abled to take a course by the savings of an econom- 
ical mother and a pittance left him by his deceased 
father. It was on that day — he remembered it so 
well — that he looked into the proud faces of his 
mother and sister, among the audience, and felt that 
the time had at last arrived when he could step into 


94 NOT HIS DAUGHTER. 

the world and be a son and a brother to them in 
more than words. He saw no clouds then, no ob- 
stacles ahead, no failure or disappointments; all was 
triumphant success. There came to him vague dreams 
of fame and glory and wealth won in that outer world, 
even as he had won his victories in college. 

And now what was he? A clerk in a lawyer’s 
office, working for wages that little more than suf- 
ficed to keep himself! He had hoped to be a scien- 
tist and what a forlorn hope it was! Where was 
the time for study, when nature called aloud to 
supply her wants,, and the faces of a mother and sis- 
ter mutely asked for aid? Where now were all those 
bright visions which danced before his eyes on Com- 
mencement Day, when, after patient watching and 
waiting and endless seeking, all employment seemed 
shut out against him and the position of a lawyer’s 
hack became a coveted prize? 

Strange it was, but adversity and the almost constant 
occupation in a distasteful employment did not sub- 
due the passion of his soul. There were books in the 
office of Mr. Kift which smacked little of the doc- 
trines of a Chitty or a Coke. These, it must be 
said, were introduced surreptitiously, and found queer 
hiding-places behind some pompous legal tome, or 
buried beneath the dusty papers of an old and settled 
case. There were times too — and they were not sel- 
dom — when the lawyer’s clerk found opportunity to 
thrust aside his bundles of papers and draw from 
his desk pages of mysterious figures and with them 
hold delicious communion. 


NOT HIS DAUGHTER. 


95 


He had just finished copying some formidable doc- 
uments, and was waiting for further orders. Wheel- 
ing his chair to a window, which commanded a view 
of nothing more striking than the gloomy brick walls 
of the adjoining houses, he fell into a reverie. Day- 
dreaming was one of his weaknesses, and, in propor- 
tion as it seemed more unattainable, he loved to pic- 
ture his life as he wished it could have been. At 
times he heard the office-boy responding to the in- 
quiries of calling clients, but it did not distract him, 
and he did not look around until he heard himself 
addressed. 

“Where are your thoughts, my boy?” 

The voice was low and languid. The speaker was 
Mr. Augustus Frone, one of Mr. Kift’s best clients. 
He was a tall, elderly gentleman, with dark luminous 
eyes, white hair and whiskers. His dress was remark- 
able for its fastidious neatness. He struck one at a 
glance as the personification of a man of leisure, one 
of that lucky number with whom everything goes 
well, and to whom the comforts, pleasures and lux- 
uries of life are matters of course, to be received and 
appreciated as such. 

Frank pulled himself together and faintly smiled. 

“My thoughts were where they ought not to have 
been,” he said. “Won’t you take a seat, Mr. Frone? 
Mr. Kift will shortly be disengaged.” 

Mr. Frone dropped lazily into a chair and shut his 
eyes. One of his arms fell over the arm of the 
chair, the jeweled fingers nearly touching the floor. 

The lawyer’s clerk regarded him closely, and a new 


NOT HIS DAUGHTER. 


train of thoughts started in his mind. How unequal 
were the struggles of life, and how undeserved the 
smiles of fortune ! Mr. Frone was a rich man, a very 
rich man, but what had he ever done to merit it? 
Wealth was not the acquisition of his own efforts or 
abilities, but an inheritance. Possessed of a superior 
education, endowed with no mean talents, what had 
they availed him? Nothing. His only objects of 
solicitude — his ease, his comforts and his pleasures! 
And yet this was the man in whose lap the fickle 
god had chosen to empty his cornucopia ! 

The door of Mr. Kift’s private office opened and 
its owner stood upon the threshold. 

“Walk in, if you please, Mr. Frone.’’ 

Mr. Frone’s eyelids lifted slowly. 

“You are guilty of a great shock to my feelings, 
Mr. Kift,” he said, in the same languid voice; “I was 
just beginning to dream that I had been transported 
into some ethereal paradise, and all around me were 
beautiful forms and delightful scenes, whilst musical 
strains entranced my ears, when you snap the thread 
of my vision and fix me in a lawyer’s office. It was 
cruel, Mr. Kift.” 

“There are worse places than a lawyers office,” 
said Kift, smiling feebly. 

“I hope I shall never get into them,” replied Mr. 
Frone, rising from his seat as if the exertion were 
one of the real trials of life. 

The two entered the private office, and Mr. Kift, 
with a lively appreciation of the character of his vis- 
itor, pushed a luxurious chair towards him, and the 


NOT HIS DAUGHTER. 


97 


latter appropriated it with a self-satisfied sigh. A 
pause ensued, during which Mr. Kift deferentially 
waited for his client to disclose his present business, 
whilst he pretended to occupy himself by writing. He 
was a thorough business man, and had very little pa- 
tience with those who delayed him unnecessarily, for his 
time was valuable, but there were also some whom if 
would have been unwise to hurry. Mr. Kift was 
never impolitic. 

“Mr. Kift!” 

“Well, sir?” he replied, instantly dropping his pen 
and looking up to encounter the melancholy eyes of 
his client. 

“I have concluded to make a will.” 

“A very wise and prudent precaution, Mr. Frone; 
I am surprised you have not done so before.” 

“I have — I have made two of them.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Mr. Kift, not a little angry with him- 
self for not having considered the possibility of such 
a thing; “I have done you an injustice.” 

“The last one I made was about five years ago 
I wish to alter it. I am not sure whether to do it 
by the addition of a codicil or the execution of a 
new will.” 

“If the alterations are many; or change the entire 
character of the will, it would be better that you re- 
voke it and make a new one.” 

“I think so myself,” said Mr. Frone, “and I would 
like if you could come to my house for that purpose 
some evening when convenient.” 

“Certainly,” said Mr. Kift, immediately consulting 

7 


98 


NOT HIS DAUGHTER. 


a voluminous memorandum book; “will you name a 
date?” 

“Oblige me by doing that yourself. Any evening 
will do. I am not like yourself — I never have en- 
gagements.” 

“You are very fortunate.” 

“Yes, I think so.” 

“How would Wednesday suit?” 

“As well as any other.” 

“Then I shall make it Wednesday.” 

Mr. Frone relapsed into silence. After awhile he 
said : 

“The alterations I wish to make, Mr. Kift, are in 
regard to my daughter.” 

“Ah!” said Mr. Kift, in a politely interested 
manner. 

He was listening attentively to every word that 
was said. 

“I love her very much,” Mr. Frone mused. 

“And no wonder!” 

“I love her more than everything I have in the 
world,” supplemented Mr. Frone. He did not say he 
loved her more than himself, and his hearer mentally 
commented on the omission. 

“It is very natural that you should do so, Mr. 
Frone; even I, who have no daughter, or family, can 
appreciate the feeling.” 

Mr. Frone opened his eyes again, and a mild look 
of surprise and amusement was in them. The idea 
of the lawyer admitting he had a soft spot in his 
heart was to him not without its humorous side. 


NOT HIS DAUGHTER. 


99 


“You have seen my daughter?” 

“I have several times had the pleasure.” 

“She is a good girl, and very affectionate and duti- 
ful.” 

Mr. Kift made an attempt to speak warmly: 

“She is one of whom any father might be proud.” 

“I am not her father, Mr. Kift!” 

“ What ! ” 

There was no doubting the genuineness of Mr. 
Kift’s astonishment, but Mr. Frone misunderstood it. 
It was not caused so much by the announcement of 
the fact, as by the admission.- Mr. Frone had hardly 
uttered the words, when he said, in an agitated way: 

“I should not have said it, Mr. Kift. I never have 
breathed it to any living being. Nobody but my sis- 
ter and myself know it. The girl loves me as her 
father, and it has always been my fond hope that she 
would never know the truth. I should not have 
allowed it to escape from me; it Was very weak in 
me.” 

“Are you afraid to trust me?” asked Mr. Kift, his 
eyes on the opposite wall. 

“Why should I be? You are my counsel.” 

“You seemed to be forgetting that fact.” 

“Do not be offended, Mr. Kift; I have the most 
implicit confidence in your discretion.” 

“J have tried to merit it,” said Mr. Kift, humbly; 
“the secret shall remain inviolable.” 

“It is for my happiness and her own that it 
should,” replied Mr. Frone, seemingly satisfied. 

“I should never have suspected there was any 


100 


NOT HIS DAUGHTER. 


other relation between you and Miss Frone than 
father and daughter,” said Mr. Kift, ever so casually; 
“she certainly resembles you.” 

“Not the slightest resemblance in the world.” 

Mr. Frone spoke rather shortly. It was clear he 
did not desire any further talk upon the subject. 
The lawyer saw this, but made another venture. 

“I always thought so anyhow,” he continued; “you 
have — adopted her?” 

This time there was no mistaking the curiosity of 
the questioner. Mr. Frone passed one white hand 
over his brow as if he were troubled. When he 
spoke, his voice was irritable. 

“I do not believe it is necessary for me to take up 
any more of your time, or bother you with my family 
matters. What I have said is, of course, confidential. 
Wednesday evening, I think it was, you said you 
would 6all at my house?” 

Mr. Kift hastened to apologize. Mr. Frone should 
remember that he had not introduced the subject. 

“I asked you if our appointment was for Wednes- 
day,” said Mr. Frone, ignoring the apology and rising 
from his seat. 

“Yes, sir; Wednesday evening, at nine o’clock.” 

“I shall make a note of it. Good-morning!” 

As Mr. Frone left the lawyer’s office, ^lie passed 
Frank Harper without speaking. It was the first 
time Frank had ever seen trouble on his face. 

The office-boy came into Mr. Kift s private room. 

“That man is out there again,” he said, timor- 
ously. 


NOT HIS DAUGHTER. 


101 


“What man?” cried Mr. Kift, angrily. 

“That drunken man, sir.” 

“Drunken man? What right have you to know 
whether a man is drunk or not?” 

“I thought — ” began the frightened boy. 

“You have no right to think either! I do the 
thinking for this establishment, young man! Your 
business is to attend to the office, and to be civil to 
persons having business here — d’ye hear?” 

“Yes, sir,” said the boy, meekly. It was no credit 
to the boy’s auricular organs to have heard Mr. Kift 
at that moment. 

“What are you standing there for? Show the 
man in! Have you lost your head?” 

“Yes, sir,” was the boy’s untruthful reply. 

He did as he was bidden, and Bill Norton appeared 
at the door, ragged, blear-eyed and defiant. 

“Mr. Harper, I wish you would take these copies 
to Towner & Lord.” 

Frank made ready to comply with the order. 

“Young man!” — Mr. Kift invariably addressed the 
office-boy as “young man” — “carry this letter to 350 
Stirling Street.” 

When both Frank and the boy had gone out of 
the offices, Mr. Kift turned to Norton. 

“Come in!” 

Norton obeyed, and, following him into the room, 
coolly deposited himself in the chair Mr. Frone had 
vacated. Mr. Kift surveyed him for a moment in 
disgust, and then went to the door and locked it. 


102 


NORTON. 


CHAPTER IX. 

NORTON. 

T ERRIBLE as was the ire of Erasmus Kift when 
provoked, and particular and exacting as he was 
to his subordinates, for whose opinions he cared 
nothing, he was now obliged to contemplate the spec- 
tacle of a vagabond leisurely stretching himself out 
on his office furniture. 

It was in the character of a mendicant that Norton 
first found his way into the office of Kift & Kenly. 
Penniless after a long debauch he started out on a 
begging expedition, entering dwellings, stores and 
offices in the vain hope that he might find some one 
who would be credulous enough to believe that “he 
had a wife and five small children at home, who had 
had nothing to eat for three days.” But if he ex- 
pected to have found a sympathetic listener in Mr. 
Kift, that gentleman did not permit him to re- 
main long under the delusion. The only charities dis- 
pensed at the office in Chancery Court were those 
which it would have been impolitic to refuse. If the 
wives of some of his wealthy clients called upon him 
for a donation for some philanthropic scheme, he re- 
ceived them politely, gave his subscription with as 
much cheerfulness as he could summon to his aid, 
and gallantly bowed them out. Then he would be- 


NORTON. 


103 


come strangely indignant, and soundly berate the fair 
solicitors, declaring to himself, in no measured terms, 
that their process of obtaining money was a species 
of blackmail, and that they themselves ought to be at 
home attending to their family duties, instead of run- 
ning begging around the streets. The ladies, blissfully - 
ignorant of the impression they had created, would 
get together and say that after all, even if Mr. Kiffc 
was a little cross and crabbed, he had a good heart, 
and, having no wife, due allowances ought to be made 
for him. 

It can, therefore, very well be imagined that he 
was not in the habit of voluntarily granting inter- 
views to drunken men, beggars, book agents, peddlers 
and others of that ilk, or particularly caretul in se- 
lecting phraseology, when intimating the desirability 
of their absence, calculated not to wound their deli- 
cate susceptibilities. Bill Norton did not, of course, 
know this when first he called upon him, or he 
would not have wasted the time which might have 
been remunerative in other quarters. 

“ Please, sir,” he began, in the approved method of 
a humble appeal, “wqjild you give a trifle to a man 
whose wife ” 

“Get out of here!” shrieked Mr. Kift, when he had 
time to recover from the start Norton had given him. 
“Get right out of here! How did you get in at all? 
Where’s that boy? Go on now — get out!” 

Such receptions could not have been a novelty to 
Norton, but the language seemed to anger him. His 
manner changed from humility to insolence. 


104 


NORTON. 


“Say, ain’t you a lawyer?” 

“Will you go out, or must I send for a policeman 
to assist you?” was Mr. Kift’s relevant reply. 

“Guess you’d better send for a policeman,” said 
Norton, coolly, resting himself against the wall. 

“I shall do it!” said Mr. Kift, much excited. 
“Young man!” — to the office-boy — “call an officer!” 

The boy hurried out to obey the mandate. 

“You’re not very sociable,” remarked Norton, as 
though he had not heard the ominous command; “I 
reckon you don’t think you’ll make any money out 
o’ me? What ’ud you say, lawyer, if I told you I 
was a real gentleman, an English gentleman — a kind 
that don’t grow in this country? You don’t believe 
me, do you? Well, you just go to where I live — the 
i Sailors’ Retreat,’ on Johnson Street, and see what 
they'll tell you there! It ain’t a swell place, but it’s 
good enough for a gentleman in reduced circum- 
stances! You won’t find no wife nor children there, 
but you’ll find them there that knows Bill Norton.” 

The speaker paused here. He was pondering 
whether he would have time before the policeman’s 
entrance to discourse further upon his own merits 
and Mr. Kift’s lamentable lack of hospitality. He 
was as well acquainted with the habits of policemen 
as they were with his, and knew that speed was not 
their chief characteristic. Still, it was among the 
possibilities that this particular policeman might be 
an exception to the general rule, and he reluctantly 
slipped away. A moment later both the policeman 
and boy appeared. 


NORTON. 


105 


“I am sorry to trouble you, officer,” said Mr. Kift. 
“ I have no need of your services now. I had a great 
deal of trouble in getting rid of a drunken rascal, but 
finally succeeded.” 

The policeman gave no manifestations of satisfaction 
or disappointment. Calmly dignified, he retraced his 
steps to the street, perhaps with the hope of captu- 
ring and clubbing the unfortunate Norton. 

No sooner had he withdrawn than Mr. Kift acted 
very strangely. Instead of scolding the boy for let- 
ting Norton into the office, he showed a most extra- 
ordinary interest in the man. Both the boy and 
Frank were subjected to a series of questions con- 
cerning the unsavory individual, and the former was 
ordered to report his presence should he ever come 
again. They were not surprised, for they * concluded 
he merely wished an opportunity to punish the man 
for his insolence. 

They would have found the problem more difficult 
of solution had they seen their employer, that very 
night, threading his way cautiously along the crooked 
and narrow thoroughfare called Johnson Street. A 
dark and loathsome place it surely was, highly sug- 
gestive of murders and “mysterious disappearances,” 
and calculated to make a more courageous man than 
Mr. Kift feel nervous. On he went, however, stepping 
into the shadow of a doorway, now and then, as an 
intoxicated and noisy sailor, or a suspicious-looking 
rough passed him, peering into a crowded drinking 
saloon, or a reeking dance-house, and all the time 
glancing furtively and anxiously at the various painted 


106 


NORTON. 


signs. Ahead of him, the shadowy ‘masts of ships 
told him the street ran to the water’s edge. 

Arrived at the very end of the street, he found the 
place he was seeking — a long frame, two-story affair. 
Over the door hung a swinging sign, on which he 
was able to decipher the words “Sailors’ Retreat.” 

Something more than curiosity induced him to 
enter. He did so, and a sight, certainly new to him, 
met his gaze. The whole lower floor appeared to be 
divided into two large rooms. A long drinking bar 
ran along the front room, and behind it stood a 
vicious-looking man, in his shirt sleeves, conversing 
with two very unprepossessing and dilapidated young 
men. Mr. Kift rightly supposed they were “boarding- 
house runners.” Sounds of revelry came from the 
room in the rear, and he hurriedly descried an indi- 
vidual in a corner vigorously playing a violin. A 
number of sailors, inspired by the music, were exe- 
cuting some kind of an indescribable dance. 

Mr. Kift advanced a little into the front room and 
coughed. The man behind the bar looked up, and 
took a mental inventory of the intruder. He did not 
appear to be at all pleased. 

“This is a hotel, is it not?” asked Mr. Kift, in a 
deprecating way. 

The barkeeper gave a surly laugh. 

“A hotel? Well, if it is, I never heard it called 
one before. It’s as good as some of them, anyhow. 
D’ye want a bed? When’d yer ship come in?” 

There was nothing of the sea in Mr. Kift’s appear- 
ance, and the question was, therefore, evidently in- 


NORTON. 


107 


tended to be facetious, though the* looks of the man 
belied it. Mr. Kift did not choose to show any annoy- 
ance, but came at once to the point. 

“I’m looking for a man.” 

“Well, don’t yer see any?” 

“ The man I am hunting is named Norton — does 
he live here?” 

“ What ! 1 British Bill ?’ ” 

“William, I believe, is his name.” 

“’Course he does; why didn’t yer ask for him at 
wunst? Oh! Bill!” he called to the other room. 

“Hullo!” 

“Here’s a man wants to see yer!” 

“All right!” the voice came back. 

Norton lounged into the room, and, as soon as his 
eyes fell upon Mr. Kift, he stopped. His astonish- 
ment was unfeigned. Mr. Kift offered his hand. 
Norton hesitated for a second, and then took it and 
suffered Mr. Kift to lead him into the street. He 
was away but a short time, and, when he returned, he 
exhibited a ten dollar bill before the doubting eyes of 
the barkeeper, and proceeded at once to get most 
gloriously drunk. 

From that night until now, when Norton reclined 
in an easy-chair in Mr. Kift’s private office, the two 
had seen each other frequently. The interviews were 
generally sought by the former, for the reason that he 
had discovered a source from which he could occa- 
sionally obtain money, but the latter was sometimes 
the seeker, as when we met him at Brementown. 
Norton had been positively prohibited from visiting 


108 


NORTON. 


the offices in Chancery Court. Only once or twice 
had he disobeyed the injunction, and that was when 
he felt particularly reckless or impecunious. 

Accustomed as the office-boy was to Mr. Kift’s 
bursts of fury, he would have been more than mysti- 
fied and aghast to have seen Norton sitting in Mr. 
Kift’s sanctum, with the air of a proprietor, and Mr. 
Kift not uttering a word. 

Norton was the first to speak. He was as cool 
and impudent as on the day when first he approached 
Mr. Kift to plead the cause of a wife and children. 
Throwing his hat on the desk among Mr. Kift’s pa- 
pers, and elevating his feet to its level, he said: 

“I’m getting tired of this thing, Guv’nor, and I’ll 
tell you why: it don’t pay. I haven’t had a cent 
from you for two weeks, and how am I goin’ to 
live ? ” 

“Why don’t you do as I tell you then? Didn’t I 
forbid your coming here?” 

“I like that!” cried Norton, with an oath, as he 
picked up his hat and slarfimed it on the floor. “I 
am to keep away from you and wait for you to 
come to me, am I? Where am I goin’ to get food 
and drink in the meantime?” 

“Then you went to Brementown, and I had to go 
after you and fetch you back,” continued Mr. Kift, not 
heeding him. 

“I don’t care if I did; I had to get money some- 
where, and you wouldn’t give me any ” 

“You came very near ruining your own prospects, 
and—” 


NORTON. 


109 


“ Yours, ” interpolated Norton, with a mocking laugh. 

“And mine,” accepting the suggestion; “mine are, of 
course, yours; the success of the attorney is the suc- 
cess of the client.” 

“I didn’t know I was your client,” said Norton, 
considerably mollified; “I know I ain’t paid you no 
fee.” 

“But you will.” 

“Will I?” ' 

“Certainly, when we recover the estate. We will 
both fail if you continue to refuse to obey me. Did 
you go to the house on that day?” he asked suddenly. 

“’Course I did. You wouldn’t give a feller anything,’’ 
said Norton, no longer defiant. 

It was now Mr. Kift’s turn to be angry. 

“Did you expect to get money there?” 

“I thought I might.” 

“Did you see her?” 

“Yes, but I didn’t have time to say much to her; 
I got into a fight with a young sprig who was spark- 
in’ her.” 

“What was the fight about?” 

“Oh! nothin’,” assuming a superior indifference; 
“he was a little too polite to her and I didn’t like 
it.” 

Mr. Kift groaned and buried his face in his hands. 
Presently he looked up, and Norton knew what was 
the question on his lips before he spoke. 

“Did you tell her who you were?” 

“I didn’t have the chance; I intended to do it, and 
I’ll do it yet, if you don’t treat me better.” 


110 


NORTON. 


lie was getting defiant again, as he felt the lever 
in his hands. 

“If yon do, there’s an end of your case.” 

“And you* won’t get no fee!” said Norton, tauntingly. 

“I will not, nor will you ever get a cent. You 
and I will then be done with each other.” 

“ Oh ! maybe we won’t ! ” 

Mr. Kift looked at him quickly. It was not a drunk- 
en man that he saw, but one sharp and shrewd. The 
two felt that they understood each other. Mr. Kift 
took another tack. 

“I have come into the possession of important 'in- 
formation lately, which leaves no doubt in~my mind 
that we are right,” he said. 

“What is it?” asked Norton, carelessly. 

“That is my business. I would disclose it if I 
thought I could trust you. After what you have 
done already, I think it would be unwise.” 

“ I don’t want to know it,” said Norton, contemptu- 
ously; “but there is one thing I do want right now.” 

“ Money?” 

“Yes.” 

“How much?” 

“I guess I can get along awhile on twenty-five 
dollars.” 

“I have no doubt of it.” 

“Ain’t you goin’ to give it to me?” 

“ No.” 

“Very well; I’ll try another place.” 

“What do you mean?” cried Mr. Kift, thoroughly 
frightened. 


NOKTON. 


Ill 


“I've found out where this man Frone lives/’ said 
Norton, slowly, watching the effect of his words upon 
his hearer. 

“You will get nothing from him.” 

“I’ll try it.” 

“How?” 

“Tell him the whole story.” 

“He will not believe you; you will be handed over 
to the nearest policeman.” 

“ He might believe me if I refer him to you.” 

Mr. Kift started. His small red eyes glared with 
the ferocity of a wild beast. His thin fingers convul- 
sively grasped a heavy ruler lying on the desk. He 
had half a mind to throw it at Norton’s head. The 
latter got up out of his seat, stuck his thumbs into 
the arm-holes of his ragged vest, balanced himself al- 
ternately on his heels and toes, and regarded Mr. Kift 
with a hideous grin. He was master of the situation. 

“Sit down!” at last said Mr. Kift, in a voice which 
Norton recognized as an unconditional surrender. “I 
will give you twenty -five dollars, but you must not 
think I do it because of any threats, implied or ut- 
tered. I see it is the only way to protect you 
against yourself — to prevent you from destroying 
your own prospects — ” 

“And Mr. Kiffc’s!” 

“You have said that before! Say it once more, 
and you shall neither have one cent now nor after- 
wards ! ” 

Victory is never assured until won, and Norton 
felt nervous. 


112 


NORTON. 


“You must promise not to go near Frone or his 
daughter, and not to come here again before I send 
for you.” 

“I promise,” said Norton, with suspicious alacrity. 

He would have done anything to obtain the money, 
and none knew better than Mr. Kift how idle and 
meaningless was the promise. Slowly and reluctantly 
Mr. Kift took a wallet from his pocket, and counted 
out the money before the greedy eyes of the drunkard, 
whose fingers no sooner closed upon the bills than 
he laughed triumphantly, waved his hat in mock 
obeisance to the abject Kift and hurriedly left the 
office. 


A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


113 


CHAPTER X. 

A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 

A FEW mornings after his arrival at the “Man- 
sion,” Charley Chanwood was awakened by 
the bright rays of the morning sun shining in 
through his chamber window. Early rising was not 
one of his hobbies, and he got out of bed, intending 
to close the shutters and return to his couch for 
another nap. 

Everything looked so lovely and fresh outside that 
he was tempted to take a morning walk, and see if 
he could discover that wonderful bird, the lark, of 
which he had heard so much, and of whose existence 
he had the gravest doubts. He was soon dressed and 
out under the trees, wetting his feet in the sparkling dew. 

No one appeared to be astir. With his hands be- 
hind him, he walked indolently along and shortly 
found himself in the rear of the house. Here he came 
across a large, healthy-looking woman, emerging from 
the kitchen. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, 
disclosing a pair of powerful arms. 

“A beautiful morning,” said Charley, pleasantly, as 
he passed on. 

“Faith! an’ it is, sorr,” she answered, heartily. It 
was easily to be seen that she was pleased by the 
notice accorded her. 

8 


1 u 


A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


At tlie sound of tlie Milesian accent, Charley stop- 
ped. Her voice awakened a recollection. He turned 
and went back to her. 

“You are Mrs. Donovan, are you not?” 

“I am, sorr,” her eyes wide open in surprise. 

“I thought so. I have heard of you, Mrs. Don- 
ovan.” 

“Heard of me, sorr? Sure, I don’t know what 
you mane!” a comical consternation spreading over 
her face. 

“Oh! don’t be alarmed! What I heard was greatly 
to your credit.” 

“It’s yourself that’s the rale gentlemin,” said Mrs. 
Donovan, her consternation giving way to a deep 
gratification she could not hide. 

“Why don’t you ask me where I heard about 
you?” . ; 

Charley was slightly perplexed by the lack of curi- 
osity shown. 

“Sure, I don’t have to be afther axin’ whin its 
meself who knows right well,” said Mrs. Donovan, 
reaching for the corner of her apron and wiping her 
face. 

“Oh! you do?” not a little taken aback. “Now, I 
wonder if you’re really thinking of the same person 
I have in my mind! Is he a large, jolly, fine-looking 
man, with a good deal of color in his face?” 

“Ah! don’t be making game of a poor woman!” 
turning away her head. 

“But is he?” persisted Charley. 

“He's jist that same!” exclaimed Mrs. Donovan. 


A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


115 


“I see there is no mistake about his identity. I 
don’t wonder you admire him, Mrs. Donovan — I ad- 
mire him myself!” 

“ You’re rale kind to say that, sorr.” 

“Not at all, not at all; I am only doing him 
justice.” 

If he expected that Mrs. Donovan would show 
signs of sweet confusion, he was disappointed. He 
was not permitted to drop the subject he had intro- 
duced. 

“Would you do something for me, sorr, if I may 
be so bould?” 

“Anything you wish,” replied Charley, wondering 
what could be the nature of the request. 

“ Thank you kindly, sorr. It’s a letther I want you 
to write for me to sind him.” 

“A letter to him? Doesn’t he live at Bremen- 
town? ” 

“ He does, sorr, but — ” exhibiting the first diffidence 
— “we had a failin' out two weeks ago come next 
Chuesday, and I believe it was me own fault, so I 
do! He said he wouldn’t come here agin until I 
axed him.” 

“ I understand,” said Charley, taking in the situation 
with commendable promptness; “I am at your ser- 
vice, Mrs. Donovan. Shall I do it now?” 

“Not jist yet, sorr; I’ll wait two or three days, 
and, perhaps, I won’t need it at all.” 

The unconscious confession of her own pride, ming- 
led with the fond hope that “Bowls” Watson might 
make the first advance, caused Charley to smile. Just 


116 


A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


then lie happened to turn his head and saw two 
other persons smiling. Darcy and Yiolet were ob- 
serving him through the windows of the breakfast- 
room. He excused himself hastily to Mrs. Donovan 
and joined them. Aunt Tabitha was already at her 
accustomed seat at the table. He was profound in 
his apologies for keeping them waiting, but Aunt 
Tabitha said nothing. Punctuality was one of her 
“ eccentricities,” and p, want of it was a very serious 
offense in her eyes. 

“Did you meet Mrs. Donovan by appointment?” 
asked Darcy, carelessly, when they had all taken their 
seats at the table. 

“No,” answered Charley; “if I had done so, the 
interview might not have been so entertaining. The 
pleasure was unexpected and unsought. I had not 
even had an introduction to the lady.” 

“She is very funny, isn’t she?” said Yiolet to him, 
looking so bright and beautiful that he forgot every- 
one else in the pleasure of gazing upon her. 

“I must respectfully protest, Miss Frone, against 
your using the word ‘funny* with regard to Mrs. 
Donovan, for, if the truth must be told, what we 
talked about related to the divine passion!” 

This disclosure brought a host of questions upon 
him. He firmly, but respectfully, refused to gratify 
their curiosity, pleading as his reason a confidential 
communication. 

“I would suggest, Charley, that you select a more 
secluded locality for your next trysting-place ! ” ob- 
served Darcy. 


A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


117 


“Never fear,” retorted Charley; “I shall choose a 
corner where your cynical eye cannot pierce.” 

“Mrs. Donovan is a very good cook,” remarked 
Aunt Tabitha, feeling that she might say something. 

“No one could ever doubt it, Mrs. Charter,” said 
Charley, “after having once sat at your table.” 

Aunt Tabitha acknowledged the delicate compli- 
ment by a gracious smile, and the speech was duly 
placed to Mr. Chanwood’s credit in her mental ledger. 
A sudden impulse seized her and she arose from her 
chair and said: 

“I will leave you young people by yourselves for a 
time. I must see Mrs. Sanders about the new arrivals.” 

After she had gone, Darcy looked inquiringly at 
Yiolet. 

“May I ask, Miss Frone, if Aunt Tab has spoken 
to you of our prospective visitors? She has kept me 
entirely in the dark about them.” 

Violet could not resist the temptation to twit him 
with being inquisitive. 

“I did not think such small matters would interest 
you,” she said; “I thought it was only a woman’s 
mind that could find delight in such trifles.” ' 

Charley came to his aid. 

“I am quite as curious as George about the mat- 
ter,” he said. 

“It is real good of you to admit it, Mr. Chan- 
wood,” Violet continued; “and, if Mr. Darcy is equalty 
frank, I will relieve both of you of your suspense.” 

“I am just dying to know,” Darcy confessed. 

“You are very magnanimous to acknowledge what 


118 , A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 

you have made so palpable,” she replied; “I will, 
therefore, fulfil my promise: the persons whom Mrs. 
Charter welcomes to-day are Mrs. and Miss Stannel. 
and—” 

“Mrs. and Miss Stannel!” exclaimed the two gen- 
tlemen together. 

“I think that is the name. Are either of you ac- 
quainted with them?” 

“I have met them,” said Charley, looking very 
hard into his plate. 

“And you, Mr. Darcy?” 

“I dare say I must have done so also,” he an- 
swered, devoting great attention to his coffee. 

“How fortunate! It will be pleasant for each of 
you.” 

“Very!” said Darcy, dryly. 

“Oh! no doubt of it!” added Charley, quickly. 

“A Miss Harper is also expected,” pursued Violet. 
“What is the matter, Mr. Chanwood?” 

The name had made him start. Was it possible 
that the blue vision was going to appear again! A 
moment’s reflection and he concluded otherwise, though 
there was no reason for him to do so. Harper was 
not an uncommon name. It must turn out to be 
some other Miss Harper. 

“Nothing is the matter, Miss Frone,” he explained, 
“except that the name is a familiar one. I have a 
cousin of that name.” 

To use Charley’s language, he was often obliged 
“to overdraw his account with Truth to make his 
credit good.” 


A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 119 

“I never knew you had cousins by the name of 
Harper,” wickedly interposed Darcy. 

“You don’t know the name of my maternal grand- 
father either,” said the unabashed Charley; “these 
cousins live in — Colorado.” 

“That’s right!” said Darcy; “put them where we 
can’t find out anything about them.” 

Aunt Tabitha returned from her mission much grati- 
fied. She had found Mrs. Sanders in her room, and 
the “model housekeeper,” as she was fond of calling 
her, had set her mind at rest, and assured her that 
everything was in readiness in expectation of the 
arrival of the new guests. 

There was something strikingly interesting in this 
Mrs. Sanders, seated in her room, clothed in a plain 
brown dress, set off by a deep white collar and cuffs. 
Hers was a sad and melancholy face, yet one that 
must once have been handsome. Sorrow had set its 
seal upon the countenance of the woman. Sallow and 
wan it was, and although no one had ever seen her 
in tears, her cheeks looked as if they had often 
coursed there. Dark eyes she had, that, at one time, 
were brilliant. Now, they were lustreless, but, when 
raised, kindness and sympathy were in them. Darcy 
remembered her from his boyhood, and to him she 
had never changed. When she saw him during his 
visits, and answered his pleasant greeting with her 
sad smile, it was the same face — the same voice — 
that in days gone by had gently checked his youth- 
ful impulsiveness when, a boy, he had spent a few 
weeks of boisterous vacation at Aunt Tab’s. 


120 


A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


Her hands were busy with the manipulation of two 
knitting-needles. Occasionally she glanced at the 
small French clock upon her mantel. The sound of 
voices coming in through the open window of her 
room attracted her attention, and, looking out, she saw 
Violet standing by a flower-bed, and Charley Chan- 
wood, at her feet, on one knee, cutting such flowers 
as he was directed to. Violet’s head was thrown 
slightly back in a critical poise, as she studied the 
effect of the addition of a bud to the bouquet held in 
one outstretched hand, whilst the other was extended 
towards Charley, ready to receive another floral offer- 
ing. The picture was a pretty one. 

“I think that will do, Mr. Chan wood,” said Violet, 
in a satisfied tone. “Are they not pretty?” 

“Beautiful!” exclaimed Charley, his eyes upon her. 

She blushed slightly and appeared annoyed. 

“You do not even look at them. I won’t ask you 
to cut any more ! Why don’t you get up from your 
knees?” 

The question was quite in order, for, although there 
was no longer occasion for it, he still remained in the 
approved sentimental attitude, his gaze yet upon her 
face. Her presence, the scene and the occupation had 
wrought in him a sudden determination, and he was 
just on the eve of committing himself when his ears 
were greeted by this horribly practical suggestion. He 
obeyed immediately. 

“I should think you would find it rather tedious 
here,” Violet continued; “but, I suppose, the company 
of your friend, Mr. Darcy, makes up for that?” 


A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


121 


“Tedious!” cried Charley, in a horrified manner. 
“Tedious whilst you are here!” 

“You’re very polite, I declare!” 

“Don’t call it politeness,” he pleaded; “call it can- 
dor, .call it sincerity, call it anything — but don’t, I 
beg of you, call it politeness /” 

“Well, then, you’re very impolite to be so candid 
and sincere. Does that please you?” 

He became suddenly very serious. 

“Do you believe what I say, Miss Frone?” His 
voice was low and earnest. 

“Really, I know of no reason why I should not,” 
she answered, lightly enough; “you have not told me 
anything yet that I have found any difficulty in be- 
lieving. I have never felt any inclination to doubt 
your words.” 

“Will you promise me that you won’t?” 

She saw what was coming and endeavored to avert 
it. 

“Indeed! I won’t promise anything of the kind!” 
she replied, laughing. 

“Will you try ? ” he asked, eagerly, now utterly 
blind to all consequences. 

“ Of course, I’ll try ; don’t ask such foolish questions 
Mr. Chanwood.” 

“Will you try to believe me then, Yiolet — let me 
call you Violet! — when I say that I love you as I 
never loved any woman before? Ever since I have 
seen you I have loved you! I know that I am hasty 
— that our acquaintance is brief — that I am presump- 
tuous — but I can’t help saying what is in my heart!” 


122 


A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


He made an effort to get possession of her hand, 
but she broke away from him and regarded him with 
an expression of mingled pity and indignation. His 
words, though simple, were eloquent, and there was 
no doubting the sincerity of his manner, and yet she 
knew, or thought she knew him better than he did 
himself. He awaited her answer in silence, but before 
she spoke he felt what was in store for him. 

“Mr. Chan wood,” she said, at length, her head bent 
down almost to the flowers she held in her hands, “ I am 
sorry this has happened. I would have stopped you 
if I could have done so. I am not angry with you, 
because I think you believe you mean what you say, 
but you cannot blame me if I am not so impulsive 
as yourself. As you say, we have known each other 
but a short time — ” 

“Do not refuse me!” he broke in; “say that I am 
not displeasing to you! I see it all! I have been too 
precipitate! But, oh! Yiolet! let me prove to you 
how I can love — ” 

He stopped, for he saw he was only displeasing her. 

“You had better know- the truth now,” she said; 
“I have liked and admired you from the moment of 
meeting you, for even then you showed me the gen- 
erosity and manliness of your nature, but I feel sure 
we can never love each other as we ought — as lovers 
do.” 

She paused, as if expecting he would say something. 
Then she raised her eyes frankly to his. 

“You will not be offended if I ask you a question? 
Do you not often take fancies like this?” 


A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


123 


It was now Charley who was indignant. 

“Fancies! Do you call it a fancy, Yiolet — I beg 
your pardon, Miss Frone — when I tell you your im- 
age has been before me constantly! — that life never 
seemed so bright as when I indulged the hope you 
might be my wife! Why should you judge me so 
harshly, and call my love a fancy?” 

Yiolet replied, very gently: 

“I am sure you feel what you say, but, you know, 
you may be mistaken after all! You never even saw 
me before a few days ago ! What would you think if 
I told you I had a temper like a fish woman?” 

“That it was the first falsehood of your life!” said 
Charley. 

“You would hardly be polite if you did that,” she 
said, smiling. 

He saw that all hope was gone. His declaration had 
been accorded the respect it deserved, but that was 
all. There could be no return of what he believed 
was his affection, either then or afterwards. The 
strangest sensation he experienced, however, was the 
utter lack of a commensurate disappointment, when 
he should have been in the slough of despair. He 
knew that he should have felt differently, that the 
rest of his life ought to have seemed a dreary, barren 
waste, and that he ought to say as much. He won- 
dered if there was not something wrong in his organi- 
zation. There could be no doubt that Yiolet had in- 
terested him as no other girl had done. No other? 
Why, it was only a couple of weeks before that he 
had seen a beautiful girl with golden hair and blue 


124 


A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


eyes — but that was only a fancy! Fancy? And, per- 
haps, Violet was right when she said this was one! 
Certainly, the sensations were the same. 

Violet seemed to know something of what was 
passing in his mind, for, try as she would, she could 
not help being amused whilst she watched him. 

“What are you laughing about?” he asked. 

“You!” she replied, candidly. 

The frankness of her avowal astounded him. Grad- 
ually his astonishment gave way to something sus- 
piciously like a smile, and then, before either of them 
knew it, they were both laughing. He felt rather 
foolish, but said: 

“This is no laughing matter. You ought to have 
some consideration for me, instead of humiliating me 
in my own eyes. I believe you know me as well as 
if we had grown up together. How do you manage 
to find a fellow out any way ? It may not be a very 
nice speech, after what has occurred, but I will say 
that now I like you better than ever!” 

“Like! It was only a moment ago you said you 
loved me!” said Violet, and she laughed again. 

“So I do, and I stick to it!”. 

“After this I am sure we will always be the very 
best of friends,” she observed, paradoxically; “you 
have the honor — if you so consider it — of being the 
first man who ever told me that he loved me!” 

“And the first man you ever refused,” chuckled 
Charley, as if the joke on himself were excellent. 

“I may never have another chance,” she said; “I 
have half a mind to recall what I said.” 


A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


125 


“I dare you!” said Mr. Chanwood. 

“Do not be too brave, my noble cavalier! You may 
not be out of tbe woods yet! I must go and put my 
flowers in water; I am afraid they are withered.” 

There was nothing of the discarded suitor about 
him as he followed her into the house. His manner 
was rather that of an accepted one. 

Entering the drawing-room, the first person to meet 
them was Mrs. Stannel. 

“Why, my dear Mr. Chanwood!” she exclaimed, 
rapturously; “so glad to see you! I had just learned 
from dear Mrs. Charter that you were here and it 
was such a surprise! Emma, here is Mr. Chanwood!” 

Emma had her back to them, and was talking vol- 
ubly to Aunt Tabitha and Darcy. She turned 
quickly at the sound of her mother’s voice, and im- 
mediately opened her eyes very widely, as if the pleas- 
ure of beholding Charley were too great for words. 

“Oh! how good of you, Mr. Chanwood!” was her 
intelligent remark. 

But the gentleman addressed paid little attention to 
her. His gaze was fixed upon a yellow-haired young 
man conversing with .Darcy at the other end of the 
room. Darcy called out to him: 

“Come over here, Charley, and make your apologies 
to this gentleman. He says you promised to make 
us acquainted with each other, but have persistently 
kept out of his way!” 

Amazed, Charley crossed the room and shook 
hands with Frank Harper. A moment after he started 
to ask: 


126 


A STRANGE PROPOSAL. 


“Is your ” 

“My sister?” anticipated Frank. “Yes ” 

At these words, a blue-eyed girl with • golden hair 
entered the room. Charley was at her side in an in- 
stant. He became at once oblivious of everything 
else. 

Darcy passed near enough to him to whisper: 

“She is very pretty! — your cousin — from Colorado!” 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


127 


CHAPTER XI. 

A SUMMER EVENING. 

T HE greater part of the following day the gentle- 
men at the “Mansion” were left to themselves, 
and managed to enjoy it in a mild way. Frank 
Harper had secured a ten days’ leave of absence from 
the offices of Kift and Kenly. It was his intention 
to return to the city after escorting his sister to 
Brementown, but Aunt Tabitha invited him to remain 
and he was only too ready to accept. Probably he 
had never been more surprised or delighted in his life 
than when he found himself introduced to the Pro- 
fessor of Physics of Stedman University. It was 
amusing to note the respectful attention lie paid Darcy 
whenever the latter opened his mouth. Stedman’s 
Professor took quite an interest in the young fellow 
as soon as he perceived his tastes and inclinations, and 
gladly conversed with him on his favorite topics. 

Charley intruded upon them several times, but 
retired post-haste when he learned the tenor of their 
conversation. It was far from being congenial to him, 
and he contented himself with observing that Darcy 
showed wretched taste in “ talking shop,” and forth- 
with proceeded to obtain a novel from the library and 
settle himself in a cozy corner, where, with the aid 
of a cigar or two, he got through the day satisfactorily. 


128 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


Said Mrs. Stannel that day in her room. 

“I can’t for the life of me understand what keeps 
these young men in such a poky old place!” 

Emma admitted that her comprehension of the 
matter was no clearer than her mother’s. There was, 
however, a suspicious gleam in her black eyes. Darcy 
and Charley wondered over it themselves. Upon his 
arrival, Darcy had allowed himself a week. He had 
remained two, and inwardly confessed that he felt less 
like leaving than ever. Charley had no very definite 
plans in view when he put' in an appearance at the 
“ Mansion,” but, notwithstanding the fact that there 
were ostensibly no attractions calculated to keep a 
man of his temperament in such a sequestered nook, 
he, too, appeared to be perfectly satisfied with his 
surroundings, and evinced no sign of a determination 
to take his departure. It would have been quite in 
keeping with the established custom, if he had has- 
tened away after the rejection of his suit by Violet, but 
he felt no inclination to conform to it. In fact, ever 
since that noteworthy event, his admiration for her 
good sense had sensibly increased, accompanied by a 
corresponding loss of respect for a like quality in 
himself. 

At tea the ladies appeared fresh and bright after 
their siesta. Violet and Grace were attired in white, and 
looked very pretty with the addition of a few flowers 
in their hair and at their throats. They had been 
attracted to each other from the beginning, and had 
mutually endeavored to appear as much alike as 
possible. 


A. SUMMEK EVENING. 


129 


Miss Stannel was quite gorgeous in a crimson 
dress, and formed a striking contrast to Violet and 
Grace. Her mother’s expression was one of great 
complacency. Assuredly there was no overlooking 
her daughter ! 

After tea a stroll was taken by the young people 
about the grounds, whilst Aunt Tabitha and Mrs. 
Stannel seated themselves on the piazza. Mrs. Stannel’s 
complacency became, if possible, deeper set when she 
saw the tall figure of Darcy walking beside Emma. 
Aunt Tabitha also seemed to be in a very amiable 
frame of mind, her passing whim of having people 
about her being gratified. 

“What a handsome man your nephew is, Mrs. Char- 
ter !’’ said Mrs. Stannel, as the strollers disappeared 
in the shrubbery. 

“ Charter was always good-looking,” replied Aunt 
Tabitha, with pardonable pride. 

“He was so kind to us at the sea-shore; I shall 
never forget it ! ” 

Aunt Tabitha said nothing, but appeared to b^ 
thinking a great deal. 

Ere long Mrs. Stannel broke the silence again : 

“ Emma, the dear child, says that she never enjoyed 
anything so much in her life as her visit here ! ” 

“I am very glad to hear it,” said Aunt Tabitha; 
“I was afraid it might be a little dull for her.” 

“Oh! not in the slightest , I assure you, my dear 
Mrs. Charter ! ” cried Mrs. Stannel. “ It is not, of 
course, like Newport or Bar Harbor — Emma raves 
Over both of ‘them — but it is just what she wants — 
9 


130 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


the change. I think the dear child needs rest, and 
everything is so delightfully quiet at your place. I 
tell her she will break herself down, if she doesn’t 
take care; she dissipates entirely too much.” 

“Dissipates!” exclaimed Aunt Tabitha, in accents 
of unfeigned horror. 

“Yes,” continued Mrs. Stannel, unconscious of Aunt 
Tabitha’s consternation; “during the winter she is out 
some place almost every night, and in the summer- 
time her goings on are something frightful!” 

Aunt Tabitha was speechless. In her vocabulary 
the word “dissipate” had no signification different 
from that given it by the standard dictionaries, and 
yet it was surely unlikely, if this young person did 
“dissipate” — using the word in its literal sense — and 
was “out some place almost every night,” that her 
mother would have spoken about it in such a man- 
ner. What could the woman mean? Living as Aunt 
Tabitha did, so much aloof from the world, it was 
possible that she was behind the times in the knowl- 
edge of the new significations of words. She, there- 
fore, ventured to ask : 

“Did you say your daughter was dissipated?” 

Mrs. Stannel gave a little shriek. 

“What do, you mean, Mrs. Charter?” 

“What do you mean?” rejoined Aunt Tabitha, 
severely. 

Mrs. Stannel stared at Aunt Tabitha and Aunt Ta- 
bitha stared at Mrs. Stannel. Then the latter began 
to flush with just indignation. Aunt Tabitha’s sever- 
ity did not relax. 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


131 


“You don't think that I meant my daughter 
drinks !” gasped Mrs. Stannel, faintly, making a clutch 
for her smelling-salts. 

“I don’t know what you mean, but I want to!” 
said Aunt Tabitlia, in suppressed excitement. 

Mrs. Stannel secured her smelling-salts. Hysteria 
was imminent. Aunt Tabitha began to feel uneasy, 
and was already convinced that she had made a mis- 
take. She was glad of her discovery, and offered her 
excuse. 

“You said yourself that she dissipates!” 

The smelling-salts were not brought into requisi- 
tion. Instead of going into hysterics, Mrs. Stannel 
went into a violent fit of laughter, which lasted for 
some minutes. After drying her eyes several times 
and giving utterance to sundry exhaustive “ Oh ! 
mys ! ” she succeeded in calming herself enough to say : 

“My dear Mrs. Charter, how could you think of 
such a thing!” 

“How could I think of anything else?” replied 
Aunt Tabitha, in a matter-of-fact way. 

“Oh! it is too rich! I must tell Emma, I really 
must! She will enjoy it so much!” 

“If she will enjoy it, tell her by all means,” said 
Aunt Tabitha, quietly. 

Just then the strollers were descried coming towards 
them. Emma was still with Darcy, and Grace with 
Charley. Frank was by the side of Yiolet, evidently 
listening with great interest to what she was saying. 

“And so Mr. Darcy is quite a learned man?” she 
said, ever so lightly. 


132 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


“ He is more than learned— he is profound ! More- 
over, he is one of the most original thinkers of the 
day!” cried Frank, warmly. 

“I think so myself — especially as to this latter fac- 
ulty,” said she, more to herself than to her companion. 

“I am so glad you agree with me. You have 
read his last article in the Physicist ?' 1 ' 1 

Violet laughed, as she replied: 

“Indeed, I have not! I have never even heard of 
the Physicist . Ought I not to be ashamed of my ig- 
norance ! ” 

“You may not take an interest in scientific work.” 

“Yes, I do,” she answered; “I take a remarkable 
interest — for a girl; even if I did not, your enthusi- 
asm on the subject would create one.” 

There was no sarcasm in her voice, and Frank 
gave her a look of the most intense, respectful admi- 
ration. This beautiful creature was in full sympathy 
with him, he thought. Here was not only a lovely, 
agreeable girl, but one with a mind above the ordi- 
nary run. Darcy had come to a stop, and had turned 
in time to perceive the expression on Frank’s face. 
He had preceded Violet in the ramble, and she could 
not but have observed the evident pains he took to 
entertain Emma Stannel. Whether this had anything 
to do with it or not, it is impossible to say, but he 
had no sooner stopped and turned towards them than 
she, too, appeared to be more interested than ever in 
Frank’s conversation. Yet she could not resist a 
glance, quick as lightning, towards Darcy. There 
was a sort* of haughty, offended look in his face, 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


133 


which she saw he attempted to conceal. Instanta- 
neously it was reciprocated in her own face, though 
she was better at hiding it. Together their minds 
had rendered hasty and false judgments. How quick 
we are to misinterpret, and from this springs preju- 
dice! 

Charley and Grace had found seats on the sill of 
one of the low, open windows. He was in high 
feather, and was making himself as agreeable as he 
knew how. 

“It seem^ so strange, Miss Harper,” he observed, 
“that we should meet again and in such a short time. 
After that day on the river, I never thought I would 
see you again.” 

“You didn’t think much about it, did you?” she 
said, giving him a roguish glance out of the corner 
o Sr her eye. 

“I did think a good deal about it, and about you,” 
he affirmed, stoutly. 

“I don’t believe it!” she said, with a pout. 

“I swear it!” 

“ Oh ! don’t swear about it, because then, I suppose, 
I would have to believe you, and I would much 
rather not.” 

“Much rather not believe me?” he asked, per- 
plexed. 

“Certainly; because if it were true, it would have 
been very foolish in you, and, if you turn out to be 
foolish, I will be much disappointed in you.” 

“Well, if you call it foolish to think of you, I’m 
afraid you have disappointment in store for you.” 


134 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


“That is all very pretty,” said Grace, “but I am 
not such a little goose as to believe it. I know 
what kind of a young man you are, Mr. Chanwood. 
Yes, I do, though you may think not.” 

“What kind of a man am I?” 

“In the first place,” with great deliberation, “you 
..have a horridly good opinion of yourself.” 

“I admit it,” said the shameless Charley. 

“In the next place,” continued Grace, checking off 
her conclusions on the points of her dainty little 
fingers, “this esteem with which you regard yourself 
leads you to imagine that every other person shares 
the same opinion. Thirdly — ” she paused and cast 
her eyes Upwards, as if she were trying to conjure up 
some other defect to be put in the category of his 
imperfections, and had some trouble about it. 

“Have you finished?” he inquired, after he had 
allowed a reasonable interval for the “thirdly.”' 

“Hot quite. I’ll tell you the others when — I think 
of them!” 

Their tete-d-tete was interrupted by a chorus of 
voices pressing Emma Stannel to sing. 

Mrs. Stannel had said something, apparently very 
casually, about Emma’s vocal abilities, and Aunt Ta- 
bitha at once had asked her to sing. As she sang 
very little without her notes, she said, she would only 
favor them with a simple ballad. 

Darcy escorted her through the open window and 
arranged the piano forte. There was a moment’s pause, 
after the prelude, and then Emma’s voice was heard, 
and the words of the song were: 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


135 


“ Could ye come back to me, Douglas ! Douglas ! 

In the old likeness that I knew, 

I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas ! 

Douglas ! Douglas! tender and true! 

“ Never a scornful word should pain you ; 

I’d smile as sweet as angels do, — 

Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, 

Douglas ! Douglas ! tender and true ! ” 

Miss Stannel flattered herself that she had the 
power of throwing much expression into the words of 
her music, and there was a depth of unfathomable 
pathos in her rendering of the line, 

“ Douglas ! Douglas ! tender and true ! n 

as she let her head fall slightly on one side and 
regarded Darcy, who was standing near her, with 
plaintive glances. Indeed, the tremulous quavering of 
her voice quite affected those on the piazza. Over 
Mrs. Stannel’s face an expression of a pleasurable but 
sad sympathy played; Aunt Tabitha seemed nervous; 
Grace giggled; and Charley beat time with his foot 
to the measure of an imaginary jig. Yiolet and 
Frank appeared utterly oblivious of the song. He 
was busily engaged in narrating to her the struggles 
and triumphs of various men of genius, and so earn- 
est and animated was his manner that she was thor- 
oughly absorbed. 

“You had better stop laughing,” said Charley to 
Grace; “they’ll catch you in a minute.” 

“I don’t care if they do,” she replied, defiantly; 
“can you see him?” 


136 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


“See whom?” 

“ Douglas.” 

“No, but I’ll try.” 

Stealthily he pushed aside the curtains and peered 
into the room. Darcy was still standing by the 
piano, with the air of a martyr. 

“ I’ll give you a peep, if you promise not to 
laugh!” said Charley, unctuously. 

Grace cautiously thrust her flaxen head through the 
curtains, which he held apart. Thei;e • was a sup- 
pressed giggle, the song stopped abruptly, and two 
heads were knocked against each other and withdrawn 
very suddenly from the window. 

“Did I hurt you?” whispered Charley, frantically 
solicitous. 

“Of course, you did,” said Grace, decidedly, putting 
her hand to her forehead. 

“ Forgive me ! ” 

“I won’t!” 

“I told you not to laugh.” 

“Did they see us?” 

“I don’t know — the music stopped awfully quick.” 

Darcy and Emma appeared at the window. She 
received the thanks — always so glaringly insincere and 
so profusely offered on such occasions — with an air 
of having more than merited them, and gave* him a 
smile of ravishing sweetness, as she accepted the 
seat he prepared for her. 

“Violet,” said Aunt Tabitha, “will you sing that 
song I like so much?” 

“If you wish it,” said Violet, rising at once. 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


137 


“ George will find the music for you, my dear,” con- 
tinued Aunt Tabitha, in a careless tone, just as if she 
had not been planning for him to do something of 
the kind. 

“No, he won’t,” replied Yiolet, with more emphasis 
than seemed necessary; “neither he nor any one but 
myself has any idea where it is.” 

She stepped briskly into the drawing-room, but Darcy 
followed her immediately. 

“ Even if I don’t know where it is, I am going to 
look for it,” he said, stubbornly. 

They went to the music-rack, Violet evidently de- 
termined that she would find the piece herself, and 
Darcy equally bent upon assisting her. She first took 
out quite a number of selections, looked them over, 
and put them aside. Then she took a fresh batch 
and went 'through the same performance. After she 
examined them, he went over them himself. In view 
of what she had said, it was rather strange she had 
so much difficulty in discovering the object of her 
search. Not a word passed between them, and the 
silence was getting awkward. He would not speak, 
and she was at length forced to say something. They 
could not go on forever looking over music in such 
an insane fashion. She did it somewhat impatiently. 

“For what are you looking?” 

“For the song you are to sing.” 

“You do not even know what it is!” 

“That is so,” he said, suddenly aware that, in this 
light, his occupation was slightly ridiculous. A happy 
thought occurred to him. “ I may know it when I see it ! ” 


138 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


“You are truly a remarkable man! I also know it 
when I see it, and you have been hunting through all 
the music that I have looked at.” 

“You may be mistaken in this as in other things,” 
said he, calmly refusing to discontinue his search. 

“Am I mistaken in other things?” she asked, in a 
tone of indifference. 

“In some, I fear,” he replied. 

She was going to ask him to enumerate them, but 
she changed her mind. She suspected what he would 
say. 

“ Miss Stannel will not feel very greatly compliment- 
ed if you remain here much longer.” 

It was a very foolish thing to have said, and the 
words were hardly uttered when she regretted it. 
What would he think of such a speech! He might 
think it implied a great deal! 

“I have not sworn allegiance to Miss Stannel,” he 
said. 

She felt grateful to him for the way he spoke, but 
she was not sure it was not affected. 

She opened another portfolio, swept her hands over 
the sheets, and said: 

“I can’t find it.” 

“Nor I,” he said, with a lugubrious look. 

“Won’t you sing something yourself ? ” she asked. 

“ I will be only too glad, if you will play the ac- 
companiment! ” 

“Does Mr. Chanwood sing?” she asked, irrelevantly. 

“It is not one of his accomplishments. He whistles 
divinely.” 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


139 


“Suppose I ask him?” 

“Do you think we ought to interrupt him now?” 

Charley and Grace could be heard outside. 

Yiolet smiled, and nodded her head in acquiescence. 

“Isn’t Mr. Chanwood something of a flirt?” she said. 

“The same question I thought of asking you as to 
Miss Harper!” 

“She may be a little partial to flirting. If she 
indulges in the recreation though, I imagine she does 
it innocently and without ‘malice aforethought.’ She 
is a lovely little creature.” 

“I shouldn’t be surprised if it were the old case of 
‘Greek meeting Greek,’” said Darcy. 

The gentleman they were speaking about put his 
head in the window, at this moment, and peremptorily 
desired to be informed how long the audience was ex- 
pected to wait for the promised music. 

Yiolet went to the piano. 

“ What shall it be ? ” she asked, looking up expect- 
antly at Darcy. 

He placed before her a piece of music he had se- 
lected whilst making his search. As her eye fell upon 
it, she looked at him quickly in a half-frightened way, 
blushed a little, but composed herself, with a slight 
effort, and struck the opening chords. 

A moment later Darcy’s rich, full baritone voice 
hushed the busy conversation on the outside: 

“I think of all thou art to me, 

I dream of what thou canst not be; 

My life is cursed with thoughts of thee, 

For ever and for ever. 


140 


A SUMMER EVENING. 


“Perchance if we had never met, 

I had been spared this mad regret, 

This endless striving to forget, 

For ever and for ever. 

“My heart is fall of grief and woe; 

I see thy face where’er I go; 

I would alas! it were not so, 

For ever and for ever. 

“Perchance if thou wert far away, 

Did I not see thee day by day, 

I might again be blithe and gay, 

For ever and for ever.” 

After the applause which the song elicited had 
died away, Aunt Tabitha was heard saying, in a dis- 
appointed manner: 

“Why, Violet, I thought that was the song you 
were to sing?” 

Darcy’s eyes were fastened upon Violet inquiringly. 
The evening dusk was in the room, but he could see 
the color on her cheek as she turned her head away. 
He could see her hands trembling slightly. Bending 
over her, he whispered, with undisguised gladness in 
his voice: 

“So I found the song after all?” 

“George Darcy!” said Charley Chanwood, stalking 
into the room, “for thorough, all-wool, unmitigated con- 
ceit, commend me to you! Whilst we all have been 
waiting in pleasant anticipation of hearing Miss Violet 
sing, you, without an invitation, without even an inti- 
mation of a desire on the part of any one to hear you, 
coolly, deliberately, and utterly without provocation, 
inflict your old cracked voice upon us ! ” 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


141 


CHAPTER XII. 

BROTHER AND SISTER. 

“TTAVE you heard from Yi. to-day, sister?” said 
I I Mr. Frone to an elderly, gentle-faced woman, 
who sat near him, one evening, in his library. 

“No, brother; it was only yesterday, you remember, 
that we had a letter from her.” 

“Only yesterday?” he said, putting down the news- 
paper he had been reading. “Aren’t you mistaken 
about that? It seems a week at the very least.” 

“I have no doubt of it,” said Virginia Frone, smi- 
ling, “but that does not alter the fact.” Mr. Frone 
lay back in his easy-chair, with a sigh. 

“I wish the child would come home,” he said. 

“Why shouldn’t she stay at Mrs. Charter’s, brother, 
if she is enjoying herself there?” 

“It’s such a queer fancy,” he replied, pettishly 
“Most girls of her age, at this season, would not care 
about being buried in a little obscure country place, 
with a crazy old woman.” 

“She has already promised to go to the mountains 
and sea-shore with you whenever you wish it.” 

“Well, suppose she has! She only promised be- 
cause she knew I desired it. Why doesn t she accept 
some of the invitations she receives? Didn’t the 
Gordons want her to accompany them to Newport?” 


142 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


“Yes,” said his sister. 

“And didn’t the Dressells invite her to join their 
party?” 

“I believe they did.” 

“Then, why didn’t she do it?” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“She must get these notions from you, sister,” said 
Augustus Frone, becoming sufficiently energetic to sit 
upright in his chair; “you never go anywhere, but 
stick in this house all the time. One would think 
you were in a jail,” he added, irritably. 

“I’m an old maid, brother.” 

“I don’t care if you are! It’s no reason why you 
should make that child act like one.” 

Virginia did not reply. She felt that she was 
innocent of the charge and her brother knew it. She 
was accustomed to his moods. They were transitory, 
and generally spent themselves of their own force. 
She resumed the reading of a book, the soft glow of 
the lamp-light, tinged with the crimson of the shade, 
falling on her face and figure. Mr. Frone returned to 
the subject. 

“Virginia, what is the attraction about this old 
lady?” 

“I have never seen her,” she replied. 

His petulance seemed to have died away. 

“Vi. is a dear child,” he said, musingly, and then v 
to his sister: “We have no cause of regret in raising 
her, Virginia.” 

This time she closed her book and looked tenderly 
at her brother. 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


143 


“We have everything to be thankful for; she is 
the blessing of our lives.” 

As she said this, she reached over and put her 
hand gently on his arm. 

“She is, Virginia.” 

“Augustus, she is everything your own child could 
be, except your flesh and blood.” 

“Perhaps more,” he said, touched by the voice and 
gesture; “and yet who knows what the little babe 
that followed poor Matilda to her grave might have 
been ! ” 

“Who knows!” she echoed. 

“And we took Violet,” he went on, abstractedly; 
“'it was your suggestion, too — I remember it so well. 
You have made my life happy, Virginia.” 

“She has made both our lives happy. Very few 
hold the prize of the love of such a darling child, 
and, holding it, appreciate it.” 

“How about Mrs. Charter?” he asked, mischievously. 

“I have no fears in that quarter. If she likes her, 
then Mrs. Charter must deserve it; but the feeling 
she has towards us is the love of a child for its 
parents.” 

“She has not even a suspicion that I am not her 
father?” 

“Not a suspicion.” 

“Nor has any one else?” 

“No one.” 

“It would be terrible if she should learn the 
truth,” he said, as if communing with himself. A 
frown gathered on his brow. 


144 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


“ Why allow yourself to think of such a thing, 
brother? There is no danger of it. It was many 
years ago, and far from here; besides, we never 
breathed it.” 

That must have been what his thoughts were upon, 
for he said, guiltily: 

“Yes; I did — once.” 

“What!” she exclaimed, aghast. 

“ It was only to my lawyer,” he said, weakly ; “ I 

don’t know what made me do it, but I told Erasmus 

Eft.” 

“ Oh ! brother ! ” 

“Never fear, Virginia! He is a very prudent man. 
I must admit he appeared quite curious when he 
heard it, but that was natural. He, with every one else, 
thought Vi. was my own child.” 

“I never liked that man, brother,” she said, with a 
sudden determination of manner. 

He eyed her wonderingly. 

“ That is very foolish ; it's merely a woman’s pre- 
judice. By the way, he ought to be here now.” 

“Who? Erasmus Kift?” 

“Yes; I have made an appointment with him for 
this evening. I’ll make it a point to impress upon 
him the fact that it is my wish that my communication 
should be held strictly confidential. I’ll do it as a 
matter of extra caution, though I am certain it is 
quite unnecessary. You need not feel at all alarmed 
about it.” 

“You know your own business best, brother, and, as 
you say, my dislike for the man may be a woman’s 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


145 


prejudice ; yet women have been right before, and 
my prejudice may prove to be well founded. I only 
hope that it will not.” 

She had scarcely finished speaking when a card 
was brought into the room. Mr. Frone wearily took 
it off the salver, and sank back in his chair again. 

“ It is he, Virginia. Show him up,”-*— to the servant. 

“I. will quit the room until he takes his leave,” 
said Virginia. 

There was no dissent from this proposition on the 
part of Mr. Frone, who merely shut his eyes and 
clasped his hands across his chest. As Miss Virginia 
was about to withdraw, Erasmus Kift appeared in the 
doorway. He bowed low to her, with an attempt at 
old-fashioned gallantry. With a scarcely perceptible 
inclination of her head in response she passed out. 

Mr. Kift took two or three steps forward and stop- 
ped. tie saw that Mr. Frone was, to all appearances, 
asleep. Before he ventured to make known his pre- 
sence, his restless eyes moved hurriedly about the 
apartment. 

The room was furnished with taste and elegance. 
The walls were covered with paintings and pictures, 
but there were no family portraits. A small antique ta- 
ble stood near him. He happened to glance down upon 
it, and a photograph of Violet Frone was looking him 
in the face. He withdrew his gaze, startled, and his 
eyes met those of Augustus Frone, open and staring at 
him. 

u I't is a picture of my child, Kift. You have seen 
her. Do you think it a good one?” 

10 


146 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


Mr. Kift turned, picked up the photograph and 
studied it carefully. 

“I am not a very good judge in these matters,” 
he answered; “the picture is beautiful.” 

“Do you think it resembles her father?” came the 
next question. 

The photograph fell out of Mr. Kift’s hands on the 
table. 

“Take a seat, Kift. You are surprised at my 
question, and I do not blame you. The other day I 
said she was not my child, and to-day I ask you if 
she resembles her father. I wanted to see if you re- 
membered my remark.” 

“I remember the remark perfectly well,” said Kift, 
greatly reassured. He felt that he was on the eve of 
a disclosure. 

“Mr. Kift,” said Mr. Frone, speaking slowly and 
with great deliberation, “I feel it is quite unnecessary 
for me to repeat it to such a person as yourself, but 
I want to say again that anything I have said about 
my daughter — you see I call her my daughter, though 
she is not — is in the strictest confidence. I know 
you will never betray that confidence.” 

“Of course, not — of course, not,” chimed in the 
lawyer, in a business-like way. 

“Thank you. I was sure you would not, because 
it could not possibly interest you in the slightest, and 
because I had expressed a desire that it should remain 
a secret.” 

“Certainly — by all means,” came in Mr. Kift again, 
very briskly. 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


147 


“My wife died a long time ago, Kift, when I was 
living in California, and a little girl that she left me 
died soon after. I felt lonely after my baby girl left 
me, and my sister suggested that we take our Violet 
for my child, for she, too, was lonely. We did so, 
and we have never been lonely since.” 

“Very proper — capital idea!” exclaimed the un- 
sympathetic Kift. He would have used the same 
expressions in approving of an advantageous com- 
promise of a doubtful law-suit. 

“And — that's all there is about it,” concluded Mr. 
Frone, shortly, dropping the lid of the family box, 
into which Mr. Kift was just beginning to get a 
peep. 

The lawyer had seen all that he would be permit- 
ted to see, and was aware of it. The lid closed on a 
spring lock. He had assented to the proposition that 
4 it could not possibly interest” him, and he could not 
consistently ask to see more. Yet he had seen some- 
thing, he said to himself, and now that he knew 
where the box was, it was only a question of time 
and proper tools when he would be able to pick the 
lock. 

“Let us now get to the business in question,” said 
Mr. Frone, drawing one hand across his forehead. 
“Will you prepare the will in accordance with this 
memorandum?” 

He took a sheet of paper from the drawer of the 
table and handed it to his lawyer. Mr. Kift read the 
paper carefully and said: 

“It will take but a few moments.” 


148 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


“So much the better,” Mr. Frone responded; “you 
will find my secretary open, and writing materials in 
readiness.” 

Mr. Kift went to the secretary in one corner of the 
room, and, in a short while the scratching of his pen 
could be heard. The sound seemed to jar on the 
sensitive nerves of his client. 

“You have gotten hold of a bad pen, Kift!” 

“Oh! it will do very well; lawyers, you know, 
always like to be heard.” 

“That may be true,” replied Mr. Frone, suavely, 
“but I do not always like to hear them. Please use 
a better one.” 

Mr. Kift smiled, but said nothing. He picked up 
another pen and silently went on with his work. 
Ten minutes elapsed and he returned to his client. 

“Have you finished?” asked Mr. Frone. “Read it, 
please.” 

Mr. Kift immediately began to read in a dry, 
monotonous voice. He had hardly finished the first 
few lines when he was interrupted by his hearer. 

“Stop! Correct that! Write it 1 to my daughter, 
Violet Frone.’ ” 

“Very good, sir,” said Mr. Kift, with alacrity, as 
he drew his pencil across the paper; “it’s all the 
same — all the same.” 

“I want the word daughter used in the phraseol- 
ogy, nevertheless,” said Mr. Frone, decidedly. 

The lawyer went on with his reading. The pur- 
port of the will was simple enough. The testator left 
all his estate equally to his sister, Virginia Frone, and 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


149 


to his daughter, Violet Frone, and to “the survivor of 
them, absolutely.” 

“ It will do very well,” remarked Mr. Frone, after he 
had listened to the reading; “there does not appear 
to be any difficulty in preparing a will like that, eh? 
I have no doubt I could have drawn the paper my- 
self.” 

“It is very probable,” responded Mr. Kift. 

“But it is always better to let your counsel do 
these things.” 

“The wisest course,” assented Mr. Kift. 

“Will you have a glass of wine before you go, Mr. 
Kift?” 

“Not any, thank you,” replied the party addressed, 
taking the rather broad hint that his presence was 
required no longer than his services demanded, and 
rising to take his departure. 

“I will call at your office in a few days, and exe- 
cute the paper. Good-evening, Mr. Kift.” 

“Good-evening, sir.” 

Mr. Kift walked out of the house and into the 
street. He was not filled with indignation, as most 
men would have been, at the cavalier treatment he 
had received. On the contrary, he felt in a capital 
humor. He was accustomed to such receptions at the 
hands of the party whose house he had just vacated. 
Augustus Frone was a haughty man; but he was 
also a man of large wealth, and that covered a multi- 
tude of faults. His interests were many and varied. 
Attention to them was the source of a handsome rev- 
enue to Mr. Kift. He could afford to put up with a 


150 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


snubbing now and then. Avarice was the god of 
Erasmus Kift. Therefore, it was not to be wondered 
at that, as he trudged along in the direction of his 
bachelor apartments, he thought less of the curt way 
in which he had been dismissed than of that secret 
bit of family history he was unearthing, for in the 
latter he saw the prospect of pecuniary reward. 

It was a case, he acknowledged to himself, not 
without great personal risk. Failure was as likely as 
success, but, the latter attained, what a magnificent 
“contingent fee” was then assured! 

“A man is a fool/’ he mumbled to himself, “to 
trust a secret even to his tried and faithful lawyer!” 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 


151 


CHAPTER XIII. 

. A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 

A FEW days passed and still there were no de- 
partures from the “Mansion.” It had been 
ascertained that some new arrivals were daily expected, 
but none of those already enjoying Aunt Tabitha’s 
hospitality had announced the day of their leaving. 
Mrs. .Stannel, it is true, several times declared that 
“ she really must go,” but she had not done so. Aunt 
Tabitha refused to listen to Violet or Grace when 
they suggested the end of their visit. Frank Harper’s 
brief vacation was not yet over, Charley Chanwood 
declared that he would not go until he was put out, and 
Darcy had not even commenced the promised article 
for the Physicist . 

One morning, Charley casually remarked to Darcy: 
“How is that article coming on, George?” 

“What article?”. 

“The ‘indefinite article,’ of course — the indefinitely 
postponed contribution to the cause of science.” 

“Well, it’s not coming on very rapidly,” said Darcy, 
frankly. “How do you suppose I can write anything 
with you here? I am going to begin it this morning, 
if you allow me.” 

“Don’t want to be interrupted, eh?” 

“I can get along just as Well without interruption, 


152 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE, 


Charley; you will have no difficulty in amusing your- 
self, I dare say.”* 

“When you want to say impolite things, George, 
don’t try and clothe them in polite language. I’ll see 
what I can do to amuse myself, as you say, but — you 
will be sorry for this when I am in my grave.” 

Charley went out of the room and down the stairs. 
At the foot he met Violet, Grace and Frank. He had 
already thought of something to employ thQ day. 

“I have a brilliant idea, ladies!” 

“What are you going to do with it?” asked Grace, 
intending to be very severe. 

“Give it to some one in more need of it than my- 
self,” replied Charley. “What do you say to making 
hay?” 

- “That would be splendid!” cried Grace, clapping her 
hands and forgetting she was endorsing the brilliant 
idea. 

“Where are we to make hay?” asked Violet. 

“Over at old Farber’s farm,” said Charley. 

“Who are going?” asked Grace again. 

“Everybody, I believe, except George.” 

“Does he refuse?” inquired Violet. 

“He’s got some scribbling to do,” said Charley; “we 
will have to manage to get along without him.” 

“It will require very good management,” said Violet, 
haughtily. 

“I’m sure Emma Stannel cannot go,” said Grace, 
the tones of her voice betraying no regret at her con- 
viction; “she said only a few moments ago that she 
had a dreadful headache.” 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 


153 


“ Still, it is possible for the rest of us to go any- 
how, is it not?” asked Charley, gravely, and then, 
without waiting for an answer : “ I’m off to order Mrs. 

Charter’s light wagon. I’ll only give all of you ten 
minutes to be ready.” 

He left them ,at once to carry out his intention. 
He was delighted to find that his novel project had 
been so favorably received. On his way to the stables 
he met Frank Harper. 

“Where are you going?” he asked. 

“To Mr. Darcy’s room,” Frank replied, surprised at 
the question. 

“If I were you, I wouldn’t interrupt him. He is 
very busy and has just put me out.” * 

“I am so glad you mentioned it,” said Frank. 

He would never have forgiven himself had he dis- 
turbed Darcy for one moment. 

Charley was as good as his word, and in ten min- 
utes drove up in front of the “Mansion” with Mrs. 
Charter’s light yellow wagon -and her span of stylish 
bays, looking as proud and pleased as if he owned 
them himself. The invited were in readiness and 
Frank assisted them into the wagon. Charley took 
the reins and the bays started off on a brisk trot. 

“ So Miss Stannel wouldn’t come ? ” Charley said, 
inquiringly, as he skilfully spun down the carriage road 
and out through the gate. 

“What do you think!” exclaimed Grace, who sat 
beside him; “she really intended to come when I first 
mentioned it!” 

“Terrible!” he ejaculated. 


154 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 


“And then she asked who were to be of the party.” 

“And then?” 

“And then I told her who were going.” 

“And who were not?” guessed Charley. 

“Yes, and she said she did not think she would be 
able to come after all.” 

“I knew it!” he said, decidedly, slapping his leg. 

“Knew what?” 

“Nothing at all.” 

“I don’t see why you should be elated over such 
dense ignorance,” said the provoked Grace; “you ought 
rather to feel ashamed of it.” 

Emma’s headache could not have been very pain- 
ful, for hardly had the party driven away, when she 
and her mother entered the library. 

“He did not go with the others, then?” said Mrs. 
Stannel, in a solicitous manner, as she selected the 
most comfortable chair in the room. 

“No; he has remained in the house,” replied Emma, 
throwing herself upon a sofa. 

“Did he learn that you were not going?” 

“ He must have done so.” 

“Then, I think it is more than a coincidence.” 

“Talk plainly, mamma,” said Emma, in some tem- 
per; “I’m sure we understand each other.” 

“Well, I think his remaining here, when all the 
others have gone, is very significant as regards you,” 
said Mrs. Stannel, accepting the reproof very meekly. 

“Perhaps, you are right,” said Emma, smiling in a 
self-satisfied way; “and yet I have an idea he admires 
that Frone girl a little.” 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 


155 


“Have you noticed it?” came quickly from the 
mother. 

“Have I noticed it!” repeated Emma, in contemp- 
tuous tones; “please remember, mamma, that I am a 
woman as well as yourself.” 

“I can’t imagine what he can possibly find to ad- 
mire in her,” said Mrs. Stannel, with some asperity. 

“He does not see her with your eyes,” suggested 
Emma. 

“ He certainly has shown you fully as much atten- 
tion, Emma.” 

“More, if anything,” languidly, “but that goes for 
nothing. You can’t tell that way.” 

She idly swung one of her feet back and forward, 
finally poising it and eyeing it critically. Her thoughts 
soon found words. 

“Are you sure, mamma, that he is very rich?” 

“I never said he was rich,” said Mrs. Stannel, im- 
patiently; “but he is in comfortable circumstances 
and Mrs. Charter’s prospective heir.” 

“How do you get along with her?” asked Emma. 

“Oh! I manage to put up with her. I do not 
think the woman is in her right mind!” 

A servant came into the room at this moment, and 
handed a note to Emma. She sat bolt upright and 
was greatly astonished. 

“For me?” 

“Yes, Miss,” said the woman; “a boy brought it.” 

“A boy! What boy?” 

“Gardner’s boy, Miss; he comes here every day and 
brings the mail and bundles.” 


156 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 


The servant left the room, and Emma eagerly ex- 
amined the note. There was no inscription upon the 
envelope, and she hastily tore Open one end of it r and 
took out a daintily folded sheet of paper. The little 
shriek of joyful surprise that followed effectually 
awakened Mrs. Stannel from a doze, in which she 
was just crossing the border into a delightful dream- 
land, where she saw several figures, the most interesting 
being “the dear child, Emma,” majestically walking 
up the aisle of a church to the entrancing strains of 
a wedding march. 

“How you startled me, Emma! What is it?” 

“Look, mamma! Look!” cried Emma, rushing over 
to her mother, and holding the note before her eyes. 

Mrs. Stannel’s glasses were very quickly put astride 
of her maternal nose. 

“ Who on earth — ” she was beginning, when Emma 
snatched the note from her hands.- 

“Listen, mamma! It is too sweet! I’m sure it is 
from him! — I’m sure it is from him!” 

Delightedly she read aloud : 


“To the one I love: — If you meet me at the 
lodge house to-day at noon, I will explain. Do not 
think my request strange or unbecoming, but grant it. 

“ Lovingly, 


“D.” 


“Do you recognize the writing?” cried Mrs. Stan- 
nel, excitedly, in turn getting possession of the note. 

“No; but it must be his,” replied Emma, in a 
great flutter. 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 


157 * 


“What can he mean?” said Mrs. Stannex. “It, cer- 
tainly, is a very extraordinary request — very extraor- 
dinary ! And the idea of addressing you in such 
terms! — on paper, too! — before he even condescended 
to intimate his affection for you! He surely knows 
better than that!” Saying which, the speaker threw 
back her head slightly, 'and assumed a haughty and 
becomingly offended air. Secretly, she was much 
elated, but filled with doubt and astonishment, a fact 
not to be wondered at. 

“Don’t you see how it is, mamma?” pleaded Emma. 
“He has loved me all the time, but has been afraid 
to declare it. What difference does it make whether 
a man breaks out into passionate appeals, and tells 
you that he loves you, or writes it on paper? Why 
should there be any less propriety in the one than in 
the other?” 

“There is a great difference,” said Mrs. Stannel, her 
head as high as before. 

“But can’t you understand it?” Emma went on, 
rapidly, her wish being father to her thoughts and 
desires; “it is his nature; he is proud, and could not 
bear the humiliation of a refusal from my lips! I 
have merely to stay away from the lodge house, and 
he knows his fate, and is spared the pain of being 
told it.” 

“No gentleman would dare ask a lady to go to a 
rendezvous, on such a mission, when he had not even 
spoken to her of his passion!” said Mrs. Stannel, 
.whose doubts were getting stronger. 

“He only wants me to give him a sign — that is 


158 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 


all,” said Emma, coaxingly; “I understand him, even 
if you do not. I shall go, mamma ! ” 

“You shall not, Emma!” 

“Yery well, then,” said that young lady; “if I 
don’t go, he will, of course, believe that I refuse him ? 
and I understand him well enough to know that he 
will never let me see his face again!” 

“Why should he select such a method, and why 
give the note to a boy to bring here, when he is in 
the same house with you? I believe the young man 
is as crazy as his Aunt!” 

“How stupid you are, mamma!” exclaimed Emma, 
petulantly. “One sign is as good as another, and as 
for the note, if he had entrusted it to some one in 
the house, he would, certainly, have been discovered.” 

“ I don’t like the idea at all,” pursued Mrs. Stannel, 
wavering; “but I will let you do as you please! 
You may be right after all. If he is sincere, much 
can be forgiven.” 

“Sincere! He is the personification of sincerity. 
If it was Charley Chanwood, I would have very 
grave doubts as to his sincerity, but George Darcy is 
quite a different person.” 

The sun was almost at meridian when Emma 
walked out under the trees, a sunshade over her head, 
and an open book in her hand. To any one who 
might be observing her, she was only seeking some 
cool, shady place in which to read. The illusion was 
increased by the manner in which she stopped, now 
and then, and looked around her. She was not in 
any hurry, for she had decided to be late at the place 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 


159 


of meeting. j.t would look better, and she did not 
propose to appear too eager. Gradually she ap- 
proached the lodge house, swinging her shade abstract- 
edly before her, picturing to herself the scene which 
was soon to occur. What would he say, and how 
would she answer him? 

“The Lord save us!” 

Mrs. Donovan had uttered the pious ejaculation. 
Emma looked up. In her abstraction she had come 
upon the lodge house before she knew it. Mrs. Don- 
ovan was sitting upon the porch. It was questionable 
which of the two was the more surprised. 

“What are you doing here?” asked Emma, after she 
had satisfied herself there was no one else in the 
neighborhood. 

“Sure, Miss,” said Mrs. Donovan, very humbly, “I 
only kem here to see a gintlemin.” 

Emma turned on her savagely. 

“ A . gentleman ! What gentleman? What is his 
name ? Answer me ! ” 

Mrs. Donovan bridled up. 

“Faith! me young lady, I’ll not be talked to like 
that, I can tell ye!” 

Emma saw she had made a mistake, and hastened 
to mollify the indignation of Mrs. Donovan. 

“Don’t be offended at what I said. I do not feel 
very well this morning, and am a little nervous. I 
know whom you expect here. I merely wished to 
see if you would tell me,” and Emma gave a forced 
laugh. 

Mrs. Donovan was immediately won over. 


160 


A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 


“ Sure, ye mustn’t moind me,” she said, apologetically. 
“It’s not for the likes of me to speak that way to a 
lady like yoursilf. An’ ye tell me ye know all 
about it?” 

Emma nodded her head. 

“Well, well,” continued Mrs. Donovan, reflectively; 
“an’ he wint an’ tould ye, did he?” 

“Who?” said Emma, barely able to contain herself. 

“Who, indeed, but Misther Charley Chanwood!” 

“Mr. Chanwood!” 

“Ah! you’re a cute young lady! Didn’t I say ye 
knew all about it!” 

Not “everything; tell me the rest of it, please,” said 
Emma, insinuatingly. “What did Mr. Chanwood do?” 

“Faith! I can’t say what he hasn’t done! It’s 
makin’ game of an ould woman, he is. I axed him 
to write a letther for me to sind him — I’m not very 
handy wid the pin mesilf — an’ he done it this morn- 
ing an’ rid it to me, an’ it was a beautiful letther 
entoirely. Thin he dhruv off wid the young ladies, an’ 
he tould me he’d lave it at Gardners for him to git, 
an’ for me to be here at twilve o’clock, but ye can 
see yourself he hasn’t come.” 

“Who hasn’t come, Mrs. Donovan?” Emma’s face 
was burning with shame and mortification. Mrs. 
Donovan hung her head coyly, and, taking hold of her 
dress, made imaginary tucks in it. “Who is he?” 
repeated Emma, her patience on the eve of giving way. 

“Sure, ye know as well as mesilf,” replied Mrs. 
Donovan, increasing the rapidity of the tucking pro- 
cess; “it’s — it’s — Misther ‘Bowls’ Watson, Miss!” 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


161 


CHAPTER XIY. 

HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

C HARLEY CHANWOOD and his party had a 
glorious time that day at old man Farber s farm, 
if his own enjoyment was any criterion of that experi- 
enced by the others. 

When they reached the farm-house, he introduced 
himself to John Farber, a bluff, hearty, good-natured 
son of the soil, and then presented his companions, 
Upon learning the object of their visit — no other than 
a laudable desire to assist him with his hay — Farber 
was amusingly astonished. It did not take him long, 
however, to understand and appreciate the real motive, 
that of* a novel pic-nic. 

They were conducted to the meadows, where the 
“hands” had been at work since sunrise, and pro- 
vided with rakes and forks. The energy with which 
they set to work pitching and tossing the hay about 
boded ill for a long continuance of their exertions. 
Finally their labor degenerated into a disgraceful hay 
fight, and the men in the fields paused to look at the 
unwonted spectacle of young ladies and gentlemen laugh- 
ing, romping and covering each other with the new- 
mown hay. 

At noon they had a regular farm dinner, which 
Mrs. Farber had prepared with great pains. Like all 

11 


162 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


meals of its kind, it was distinguished by a delight- 
ful abundance of charming incompatibilities. But Char- 
ley ate as if a dinner were to him a genuine novelty, 
and, not satisfied with showing conclusively the evi- 
dence of his own voracity, he Was equally anxious 
that Grace and Violet and Frank should testify their 
appreciation of the hospitality of their host in as prac- 
tical a way as he himself. 

‘‘Take some more of this pie, Harper. Miss Vio- 
let, I insist that you shall drink another glass of 
milk ! Let me help you to some more of this pumpkin, 
Miss Grace ; it’s delicious ! ” he cried, in a perfect 
whirlwind of good-humor. 

“Some more pumpkin!” exclaimed Grace, disgusted; 
“I have not had any yet, and I don’t want any.” 

“But you must have some of this,” he insisted, as 
he covered her plate with the somewhat questionable 
edible; “I never tasted anything so nice in my life!” 

Then he proposed a toast to Farber, in a glass of 
last year’s cider, and, after assuring him that he could 
ever afterwards command Charley Ohanwood for any 
possible service, bundled his party into the wagon 
and set out on the return to the “Mansion.” 

Darcy had put his head out of the window that 
morning, just in time to see* Charley and his party 
starting on their excursion. He made a rush for the 
door, with the intention of hailing him and insisting 
upon being one of the number, but he stopped irres- 
olutely at the threshold and his opportunity was 
gone. He returned and flung himself upon a chair. 
He was very angry at his friend’s duplicity. Glancing 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


163 


at the manuscript lying before him on the table, he 
seized the sheets of paper and sent them flying around 
the room. He had hardly given way to this momentary 
fit of temper when he laughed scornfully to, or, rather, 
at himself, and patiently began to gather up the un- 
lucky pages and replace them upon the table. What 
an ass he was, to be sure! How like a boy! He 
would devote the rest of the day to business, and let 
these young people enjoy themselves as suited them. 
The resolution was easy to make, but hard to carry 
out, and hours passed away, but there was no addi- 
tion to the manuscript. The writer’s thoughts had 
gone with the excursionists. 

The haymakers, that evening, were very enthusi- 
astic about their experiences. 

“ Why didn’t you come with us, Mr. Darcy ? ” 
cried Grace; “you don’t know what you missed!” 

“Why didn’t -I come? Why didn’t you ask me?” 

“Mr. Chanwood said you told him you were too 
busy with something or other, and had no time for 
such nonsense.” 

“I knew nothing about it until I saw him driving 
away. Did he tell you* the same story, Miss Violet?” 

She was standing near Grace and might not have 
heard the conversation; at least, that was to be gath- 
ered from her action. She merely turned her head 
towards the speakers, elevated her eyebrows slightly; 
and begged to be informed of the subject of the in- 
quiry. Grace explained with great volubility. 

“I think there was very little said on the subject,” 
she said, and crossed the room to Aunt Tabitha. 


164 


HUSBAND AND WIFE, 


Darcy bit bis lip in anger, and looked eagerly 
around for tbe gentleman to whom he was indebted 
for his discomfiture, but he had no opportunity of 
demanding an explanation until he retired to his 
chamber for the night, where he found Charley stretch- 
ed out on an ottoman, awaiting his coming. The 
latter no sooner saw him than he burst out into a fit 
of uncontrollable laughter. 

“What do you mean by your infernal conduct?” 
exclaimed Darcy, harshly, as he walked up to the 
recumbent Charley. 

“Did you meet her, George?” asked Charley, when 
he had managed to partially subdue his merriment. 

“ Meet whom ? ” 

“Why Emma Stannel, to be sure!” 

“Be good enough to explain yourself. What new 
rascally trick have you been playing?” 

Thereupon Mr. Chanwood related, as well as he 
could between his laughter, how he had played the 
amanuensis for Mrs. Donovan ; how he had encountered 
that worthy woman on his return from Farber’s farm ; 
how she had told him of her disappointment at the 
lodge house, of the surprise Emma Stannel had 
given her, and of her own suspicion in that connection; 
how she had upbraided him with treachery, and what 
an extremely difficult time he had in convincing her 
of his entire innocence. 

“Well, what have I to do with the matter?” de- 
manded Darcy, with a growing conviction that he had 
a good deal to do with it. 

“You have heard of Napoleon, George?” 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


165 


“ Answer my question!” said Darcy, testily. 

“ I am doing so. Napoleon was in the habit of pub- 
lishing his proclamations and addresses over his ini- 
tial letter, N. Mrs. Donovan’s missive followed the 
peculiarity of the great Corsican, as the subscription 
was D. D stands for Donovan and also for ” 

“This passes all endurance!” Darcy burst forth; 
“you have gone too far r ” 

“Now, don’t go too far yourself, George,” said 
Charley, lifting his hand warningly ; ” it was all a 
mistake, I wrote a funny love-letter for Mrs. Charter’s 
cook, designed for 4 Bowls’ Watson, who is enamored of 
her, and gave it to that blockhead boy at Gardner’s, 
with instructions for W atson to get it. I forgot to ad- 
dress it, and the little fool must have brought it back 
here. He was aided and abetted by your Aunt’s intelli- 
gent maid-servant, who gave it to the young lady who 
had such a bad headache this morning. She must have 
thought it was very urgent, and when the time ap- 
pointed arrived ” 

He did not finish the sentence, but made a break for 
the door. A flying book struck him in the back, as 
he was making his exit. He rushed along the hall- 
way and into his own chamber, and hurriedly locked 
the door. 

“Let me in!” said Darcy from the outside, in a 
loud whisper. He had lost no time in following him. 

“ W ait until morning, George. I couldn’t trust my- 
self alone with you now!” 

Charley had decidedly the best of the situation, and 
even Darcy, provoked as he was, could not help laugh- 


166 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


ing as lie turned away. Eeturning to his room, lie 
stopped suddenly. Voices were heard in the lower 

part of the house. He took out his watch and noted 

the time. It was one o’clock in the morning, a most 
tfnusual hour for any one to be astir. He leaned over 
the stairway and listened. There seemed to be two 
voices, but he thought he recognized one of them as that 
of Mrs. Sanders. Nor had his ear deceived him. It 
was no unusual thing for the housekeeper to glide 
silently about the house at all hours of the night. 

Aunt Tabitha had often said she wondered when the 

woman ever slept. If Mrs. Sanders did not sleep, it 
in no way interfered with Aunt Tabitlia’s slumbers, but 
only made them sounder, for she, good woman, trusted 
implicitly in the watchfulness of her housekeeper, and 
had a firm belief that she was fully able, in some way, 
to cope with burglars, and avert all other possible evils. 

Mrs. Sanders had entered the library, and crossed to 
a table in the centre of the room, where she turned 
on the light of a large bronze lamp. The action dis- 
covered to her that one of the sashes of a window 
was up, and the shutters open. Instinctively she 
turned around, and Bill Norton stood before her, his 
hands extended towards her throat, ready to seize her 
if she attempted an outcry. She did not move or 
scream, but stared at him as if there was some terri- 
ble fascination in the sight, and yet, though her face 
became ghastly white, there was an expression in it 
not so much of terror as of a horrible surprise or 
recognition. It was as if she were looking at a face 
last seen in a coffin. 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


167 


Norton eyed her with fiendish pleasure. 

She spoke at last, in a voice strange and unnatural. 

“William !” 

“Yes, it’s William,” he said, in an exulting tone; 
“it’s your husband come back to you. You’re glad 
to see him after all these years?” 

“No,” she said, hoarsely, never removing her eyes 
from his face. 

“Well, you’re as truthful as ever. You thought I 
was dead, did ye?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re sorry I’m not?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then, I guess I’d better go and kill myself! ” he 
said, mockingly. 

“What do you want here to-night?” she asked, 
slowly, her eyes still on him. 

“I want some money.” 

“You shall get none,” she answered, a look of new- 
born determination beginning to usurp the frightened 
one in her face. 

His eyes wandered around the room. 

“I’ll take some of these fixin’s; they’re as good as 
money.” 

“No, you cannot.” 

“Pooh! I should like to know why not! You’d 
better not try to stop me! I wouldn’t think much 
of killing you!” 

“You may kill me, but you shall not rob this 
house ! ” 

He eyed her steadily. She did not waver. 


168 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


“I have come for another thing,” he said, after a 
pause. “/ want my child!” 

Her eyes grew larger, and she grasped the table to 
prevent herself from falling. 

“What are you saying? Our child is dead!” 

“You lie, woman! She is alive and in this very 
house!” 

A wild light came into her eyes, a look of a fear- 
ful awakening. She started towards him as if to 
throw her arms about him, hesitated, shuddered, and 
sank at his feet with uplifted hands. 

“Oh! William! William!” she pleaded, “is it 
true? — is she alive? You told me she was dead — 
you told me she was dead — and I believed you! And 
she has been alive all these years! Oh! William! 
tell me where she is, that I may go to her! Tell 
me where she is, and I will bless you to my dying 
day! ” 

Norton thrust his hands in his pockets, and looked 
contemptuously at the crouching figure at his feet. 

“So you believed me, when I told you she was 
dead? The more fool you! You thought I brought 
her to the hospital when you were sick? You 
thought she died there when you were out of your 
head? I didn’t tell ye I got a hundred dollars for 
her adoption, did I? But I want her again. I’ve 
got a way of making more money out of her now 
than that.” 

The figure on the floor only moaned-. 

“Oh! William! tell me where she is, if you ever 
loved me ! ” 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


169 


“Tell ye where she is?” he repeated, angrily. 
“Didn’t I say she’s in this house? That pretty girl 
up-stairs, who goes by the name of Frone, is our 
daughter! What’s the matter with ye?” 

Mrs. Sanders raised herself slowly from the floor. 
Her eyes were still fixed upon him, and she looked 
as one walking in her sleep. 

“How do you know this?” she asked, in a far-away 
voice. 

“I’ve got the proofs, if that’s what ye mean, and 
I’ve got a lawyer, too!” 

“What do you want with her?” she asked again. 

“Well, I guess I’ll have use for her.” 

“I would sooner she were dead ten thousand times 
than that you should touch her!” said Mrs. Sanders, 
a flush of indignation coming into her white face. 
“I do not fear you, however; you are a coward! You 
robbed me of my child when I was sick and weak 
and unable to prevent you. You have surrendered 
all rights to her. If she is happy now, she shall 
remain so. She shall not know that her father is a 
scoundrel, and that her mother is the unfortunate 
being that she is!” 

Her voice, trembling with emotion, had risen as 
she proceeded, until, as she finished, it was high and 
piercing. She was carried away by her feelings, and 
cared not who heard her. Her dark eyes flashed fire, 
and she looked strangely and terribly beautiful. Norton 
was cowed by the sight, and frightened by her voice. 

“Don’t make a fuss about it,” he said; “I’m not 
going to take her to-night, anyhow. Be sensible and 


170 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


keep quiet. I only want a few things, and I’m going 
to have them! You open your mouth again, and, by 
G— d!— ” 

He raised his hand threateningly, and, for the first 
time, she saw he held a knife. A step on the carpet 
behind him caused him to look around. George 
Darcy, with clenched fists, and fierce determination 
on his face, was advancing upon him. For a moment 
Norton felt secure with the knife in his hand. But 
it was only for a moment, for it was true that he 
was a coward. Slowly he backed in the direction of 
the open window, paused for a second, stepped through 
it and was gone. 

Darcy closed and bolted the window, and then, 
wheeling around, confronted Mrs. Sanders. She was 
standing in the same spot, the wild look still on her 
face. 

“Did you hear?” she asked, with one hand at her 
throat, and barely able to speak. 

“Everything!” he said, solemnly. 

That dramatic dialogue between husband and wife 
had reached other ears than his. Some one had 
caught the sounds in the room above. An agonized 
listening face had appeared at one of the upper win- 
dows, and when Darcy and Mrs. Sanders left the 
library, they found Yiolet Frone lying in a swoon at 
the very door. 


THE RAILWAY STATION AT ARNOTTSVILLE. 171 


CHAPTER XY. 

THE RAILWAY STATION AT ARNOTTSVILLE. 

T HAT was a strange day at the “Mansion” suc- 
ceeding the happening of the events narrated in 
the preceding chapter. A feeling of gloom and de- 
pression seemed to pervade. Yiolet did not appear at 
the breakfast table, but sent word that she was not 
feeling well. Darcy was melancholy and taciturn. He 
had utterly forgotten his determination of avenging 
himself on Charley Chanwood, and listened, without 
protest, to that vivacious gentleman’s account of his 
retreat to his chamber on the previous evening, pur- 
sued by the irate George. He did not join in the 
laugh that followed, but raised his eyes inquiringly, 
with a serious, wondering look. He was asking him- 
self if he had dreamed the events of the preceding 
night, or was the dream a reality? 

Of one thing he felt confident. Only three people 
had heard the revelation. It was locked in their 
breasts, and there was no danger it would escape. He 
had seen Mrs. Sanders that very morning. She had 
merely glanced at him, but that glance was sufficient. 
There would be no betrayal in that quarter. He had 
heard her say it was best for the girl to remain in 
blissful ignorance of the terrible truth, and, even 
though she had unhappily discovered it, there was to 


172 THE KAILWAY STATION AT ARNOTTSVILLE. 

be no public recognition. It was too late for mother 
and daughter to know each other now. 

“What in the name of the holy Jupiter is the 
matter with you this morning ?” at last asked Char- 
ley, goaded to desperation. 

“I am merely in a frame of mind in which you 
can never be.” 

“What is that?” 

“ Serious.” 

“It’s not a very enviable frame of mind, at all 
events. You look as if you had been invited to act 
as a pall-bearer, or were going to get married, or 
were planning a murder.” 

Aunt Tabitha came into the room in a perfect flut- 
ter of nervous excitement. 

“I have just left Violet,” she said, between her 
gasps: “the poor child is really sick; but the most 
unaccountable thing is that she insists upon returning 
home this very day.” 

All were too much surprised to speak. Darcy did 
not raise his. eyes from the floor. 

“I cannot imagine what put such an idea into her 
head,” Aunt Tabitha went on, greatly distressed. 
“She seems absolutely determined upon it; she said 
something about her father needing her. I believe 
she thinks something is going to happen to him.” 

“It’s a presentiment,” said Emma Stannel, who had 
been watching Darcy, “and presentiments are enough 
to set me crazy.” 

“Whatever it is,” continued Aunt Tabitha, “she is 
bent upon going.” 


THE RAILWAY STATION AT ARNOTTSVILLE. 173 


“It’s too bad!” Grace exclaimed, in a provoked way; 
“just as we were all having such a good time!” 

“You will have to go with her to the station, 
George,” said Aunt Tabitha to Darcy. 

He looked up quickly with such an annoyed ex- 
pression that all must have noticed it. Then he 
bowed his head again, and merely said: 

“Very well; I shall do so.” 

Yiolet remained in her room until the carriage was 
announced which was to take her away. Grace was 
with her. It was not a little difficult to satisfy 
Grace’s curiosity as to the cause of her sudden resolu- 
tion, but Violet flattered herself that she succeeded 
Grace had told her that Darcy was to be the com- 
panion of her drive to the railway station, and she 
looked forward to meeting him with feelings of dread 
and mortification. 

At length the sound of the carriage wheels was 
heard on the gravel road. Violet started at the 
sound and trembled violently. Grace was alarmed 
and put her arms around her. 

“I cannot! I cannot!” moaned Violet, all the resolu- 
tion she had been summoning to her aid seeming 
about to desert her. 

“Cannot do what?” asked Grace. 

“I cannot leave this room.” 

There was the vision before her of that woman 
with the white face and dark, staring eyes. She had 
seen it all through the long night, and she saw it 
now, and when she opened her chamber door she 
feared to see the woman herself. 


174 THE RAILWAY STATION AT ARNOTTSVILLE. 

“Violet, my child,” said Aunt Tabitha, coming into 
the room, “the carriage is here and everybody is at 
the door to see you off.” 

With a mighty effort, she arose, took Aunt Ta- 
bitha’s arm and suffered her to lead her out. In 
front of the house were assembled the guests of the 
“Mansion.” Aunt Tabitha and Grace embraced her 
warmly; Mrs. Stannel and Emma kissed her coldly 
on the cheek; Frank Harper held her hand reverently 
for a moment; Charles Chanwood squeezed it passion- 
ately and looked supremely miserable. All combatted 
and ridiculed good-naturedly what they supposed was 
a foolish whim, but she was proof against their per- 
suasions and arguments. As she reached the carriage, , 
an uncontrollable impulse caused her to look around 
in a frightened way. There was no need to fear 
that white face and those dark, staring eyes. They 
were watching her — oh! so hungrily! — but Violet saw 
them not, and when the carriage moved away, Mrs. 
Sanders, in her solitary room, threw herself upon her 
bed and wept as only one can weep who sees the 
one gleam of light in a dark life extinguished. 

Both Violet and Darcy felt thankful for the pres- 
ence of the driver, who was in a position to hear 
everything said. They had hardly driven away, when 
she started off bravely with some commonplace re- 
marks about the beauty of the country, how sorry 
she was to leave the “ Mansion,” and what an enjoy- 
able time she had had, to all of which Darcy assented 
in a constrained manner not usual to him. The con- 
versation was merely mechanical. It was awkward 


THE BAILWAY STATION AT ABNOTTSVILLE. 175 

for him, but it was torture to her. She did not dare 
even to glance at him, but rested her face against the 
cushions- of the carriage and looked out of the win- 
dow. 

How long the journey seemed to her! She asked 
herself how long would she be able to preserve her 
outward demeanor. 

At last, their joint efforts appeared to have ex- 
hausted them, and neither spoke. Nothing was heard 
but the sound of the horses’ hoofs beating the hard 
road, and the driver himself began to wonder what 
was the matter with the couple at his back, and in- 
wardly voted Darcy a stick to have such a pretty 
girl beside him and be as silent as a toad. But it 
was not for a driver to conceive the wild desire, the 
longing, the resolution quickly formed and as quickly 
dissolved, the melancholy and the dire despair which 
tortured the breast of that silent man I How he 
longed to comfort the unfortunate girl, to tell her 
that he loved her, and yet he was compelled by a 
feeling of respect for her sorrow to maintain silence; 
and how bitter the reflection that every moment was 
shortening his opportunity, perhaps the last he might 
ever have, of looking upon her face, the remembrance 
of which he felt must be with him always!^ 

The railway station at Arnottsville, a little box of 
a place, was reached at last. Darcy assisted Violet 
from the carriage, and led her to the waiting-room, 
which she was glad to find empty. He then went 
and purchased her ticket and returned to her. By 
this time they had managed again to start a forced 


176 THE RAILWAY STATION AT ARN OTTSYILLE. 

and desultory conversation, which was even more 
painful than the silence. 

Yiolet saw that she must end it, and arose to her 
feet. 

“And now, Mr. Darcy,” she said, smiling sweetly, 
as she held out her hand to him, “I must say good- 
bye to you. The train will be here in a few mo- 
ments, and there is really no necessity for you to re- 
main any longer.” 

He knew she wished him to go, and could not 
blame her. Taking her hand, he held it tightly, al- 
most crushing it, and looked down into her eyes with 
all the unspoken, yearning love for her in his own. 
Her eyes fell before his burning gaze. 

“Good-bye — Yiolet!” he said, and, dropping her 
hand, strode hastily away. 

At the door, he stopped and looked back. He 
could not help it. Her head was turned away from 
him, but the tears were pouring from her eyes.. In a 
second, he was at her side, with his strong arms 
around her. 

“Yiolet! My darling Yiolet! I cannot leave you 
like this!” 

She made a feeble effort to release herself from his 
tightening embrace, but all her resolution seemed to 
melt away, and she fell sobbing on his breast. He 
placed one hand soothingly on her head, as if she 
were a frightened child and had run to him for pro- 
tection. The hot, passionate words, which he had 
struggled to repress, came bursting from his lips. 

“My dearly beloved one! I love you better than 


THE RAILWAY STATION AT ARNOTT3VILLE. 177 

my life! Let me be your protector now and always! 
Give me the privilege of devoting my existence to 
the object of my love! As my wife, Violet, you will 
forget last night’s terrible scene!” 

She broke from him, as if the thought had stung her. 

“ Oh ! no, that can never be — don’t think of such a 
thing, Mr. Darcy!” and then, as she saw how cruelly 
the blow had fallen: “Forgive me, if I pain you. I 
know you are worthy of my — of any woman’s love, 
but — but — I cannot be your wife!” 

“There is then no hope of your loving me even a 
little?” he said, in a low, husky voice. 

“ Oh ! it is not that — it is not that — but you must 
see — ” 

“If it is not that,” he cried, fiercely, the light of her 
love breaking in upon him, “if it is not that, you shall 
he my wife /” 

In the gladness of the knowledge of her love for 
him, which she had been unable to conceal, he started 
again to take her in his arms but she stopped him 
with a piteous gesture. 

“No, it cannot be,” she repeated ;“ you must under- 
stand!” 

“I understand nothing except that I love you!” he 
exclaimed, hotly. “Do you understand what love is?” 

“I do,” she said, with all the feeling that was in 
her soul; “but — George” — it was the first time she 
had called him by his name, and she did it uncon- 
sciously — “you must try and forget me — try and for- 
get that you ever met me, and I — I will try to for- 
get you. It will be best for both of us!” 

12 


178 THE RAILWAY STATION AT ARNOTTSYILLE. 

Her eyes were lowered and her lips were trem- 
bling. She felt his gaze upon her face, and knew how 
empty were the words she uttered, but they were all 
she could say. Darcy heard them, but saw that the 
fluttering heart of the girl was not with them. 

The shriek of the engine of the approaching train 
broke the sacred silence of the moment. She looked 
up at him timidly, and gave him a smile through her 
tears. She held out her hand to him, and he took it 
tenderly and kissed it. 

The train rattled up to the station, and the pas- 
sengers stared hard at the couple who emerged from 
the waiting-room, and speculated upon their relation 
to each other when Darcy was zealously putting Violet 
on board the cars. The conductor, on the station plat- 
form, waved his hand impatiently to the engineer, 
swung himself majestically on the step of the rear 
car, and the train moved away. 


TELL ME THE TRUTH. 


179 


CHAPTER XVI. 

TELL ME THE TRUTH. 

V IRGINIA FRONE, in her chamber, was gazing 
ont abstractedly upon the gorgeous colors 
which the summer sunset left blazing across the sky, 
when the door opened and Yiolet walked into the 
room. 

“Yiolet! My own dear n 

She was advancing to embrace her, but stopped in 
amazement. Violet’s face was white; her eyes were 
leaden; she looked the picture of utter misery. 

“What is it? Are you ill?” Yirginia asked, faintly, 
an instinct of some dreadful misfortune possessing 
her. 

Yiolet did not answer, but threw herself into Yir- 
ginia’s arms. Not a tear escaped her eyes; she 
buried her face in Virginia’s bosom, and held her 
closely. 

“Yiolet, my darling, what is the matter?” implored 
the frightened Yirginia, as she passionately kissed the 
forehead of the trembling girl. 

Yiolet unwound her arms, and, taking Virginia’s 
hands in both of hers, gave her a long, sad and 
searching look. 

“Sit down, my child, sit down, and tell Yirgie what 
has happened?” 


180 


TELL ME THE TRUTH. 


She gently endeavored to force the girl upon a 
lounge. Violet threw herself on the floor, still tightly 
holding Virginia’s hands in her own. 

“Virgie,” — she pulled her down upon the lounge — 
“Virgie, am I papa’s daughter? ” 

It had come! The thing dreaded by brother and 
sister had happened ! The secret they had guarded so 
jealously was a secret no longer! The hope, so fondly 
cherished, that she would always believe herself to be 
his child, was shattered! 

Virginia turned away her head, but Violet saw the 
answer to Her question in her face. 

“ I see it all! I see it all!” she cried, wildly; “I am 
not his daughter — is it not so? Tell me — tell me 
quickly, Virgie!” 

There was no evading the piteous entreaty. Virginia 
answered, as calmly as she could: 

“You are not his own daughter, Violet, but an 
adopted one, and as dear to us both as if you were 
our own flesh and blood. Where did you learn this?” 

“How long have I been with him?” asked Violet, 
intent upon one purpose and heedless of the question. 

“A long time, Violet — ever since you were an in- 
fant.” 

“My mother, Virgie? She is ” 

“Dead!” said Virginia, huskily. The tears were 
running down her face and her imprisoned hands 
were trembling. 

“Do you know that she is dead, Virgie?” 

“I have no positive knowledge of it, yet there can 
be no doubt about it.” 


TELL ME THE TRUTH. 181 

“And my— father ?” The word made her shudder. 
“Is he — is my father alive?” 

“He is alive.” 

“Where is he?” 

“I cannot tell.” 

“Virgie, why am. I not with him now?” 

“Because it is not for your good that you should 
be.” 

“Why, Virgie, why ?” 

Virginia’s arms were imprisoned now as well as 
her hands. There was no looking away from that 
beautiful white, pleading face, and no avoiding the 
question asked. 

“He is not a good man, Violet. Do not make me 
say more. You do not want to know more?” 

“No,” said Violet; “there is nothing else for me to 
learn. It is all clear to me now.” 

She let her head fall heavily into Virginia’s lap. 

“ What is all clear to you? ” cried Virginia, in a 
high state of nervous perplexity. “Have you seen 
him? I mean have you ” 

She had said too much and checked herself. Vio- 
let raised her head. The storm had passed. She 
was calm. 

“I heard it, Virgie.” 

“From whom?” 

Violet gave a wan smile. 

“You must not ask me, Virgie; it would do no 
good; please let me keep it to myself, and I promise 
you I will never trouble you again as I have done 
this evening!” 


182 


TELL ME THE TRUTH. 


Virginia took her face between her hands. 

“ Promise me, Violet, that you will never speak of 
this to brother. You are the apple of his eye, and 
it has been his dream that you would always know 
him as a father.” 

“And it shall ever be his dream,” said Violet, fer- 
vently; “he and you, Virgie, have been too kind, 
loving and generous for me ever to give you pain! 
You will forgive me, dear, good, kind Virgie, for the sor- 
row I have just caused you, will you not? Oh! if you 
only knew how hard it was to know a part, and not 
the whole truth, you would not blame me!” 

“I do not blame you, my poor child,” replied 
Virginia, kissing the upturned face; “the misfortune 
is yours. You were too young and happy to have 
the sunshine of your life darkened. It is for brother 
and myself to ask your forgiveness.” 

“Mine!” 

“For deceiving you, Violet; but, remember, we did 
it for your own happiness. We never intended that 
you should think yourself other than what you be- 
lieved yourself to be. Will you cease to love us 
because we have deceived you?” 

“Love you!” exclaimed Violet, showering kisses on 
Virginia’s hands; “I will always love you both!” 

A noise was heard in the room below. 

“Listen!” said Virginia, warningly; “that is your” 
— she hesitated for an instant — “father. Go to him.” 

“I will go,” said Violet, rising to her feet. 

“But not in tears, Violet; you must go as you 
always do, with a sunny face.” 


TELL ME THE TRUTH. 


183 


Violet dried her eyes, looked in tlie mirror, made a 
woeful attempt to smile, and left the room. At the 
door of the library she paused for a moment, tried to 
think of everything pleasant in her life, and then 
pushed it open and softly entered. Mr. Frone was 
sitting with his back to her. She walked noiselessly 
up behind him, and playfully placed her hands over 
his eyes. He recognized the touch, caught her by the 
wrists and drew her down to him. 

“You cannot fool me, my little girl!” he said, ten- 
derly, pressing a kiss upon her lips. “I knew who 
it was, for I was thinking of you.” 

“That was sweet of you, papa.” 

“ Why didn’t you send us word you were coming, 
Vi.?” 

“Because it would have spoiled the surprise.” 

“Of course, you’ve had a pleasant time?” he asked, 
fondly . contemplating her ; and then, seeming to n^+e 
her appearance for the first time; “What is the mat- 
ter with you? Have you not been well?” 

“The idea of such a thing!” exclaimed Violet, with 
a well-counterfeited laugh. “I have had a splendid 
time, and how do you suppose I could have had it if 
I had been sick?” 

The answer appeared to re-assure him. 

“Have you been lonely without me, papa?” 

“You have been in my thoughts all the time.” 

“But you were wanting me to go away some- 
where?” she said, essaying to tease him. 

“I wished you to enjoy yourself.” 

“Well, papa, I want to go away now.” 


184 


TELL ME THE TRUTH. 


“How long do you want to leave your old father 
by himself this time?” 

“Not a single second; I want him to go with me.” 

He was so much surprised that he could not speak. 
He almost doubted whether he heard aright. It was 
so unexpected, and so unlike her. 

“You won’t do it?” 

“With all my heart, Yi. Where shall we go and 
when?” 

“As to the place, anywhere,” she said; “as to the 
time, cannot we go this week?” 

“Certainly, we can!” he cried, actually jumping out 
of his chair'; “and go we shall!” 

It was the very thing he wished her to do. He 
had, time and again, proposed all sorts of excursions 
and trips and various modes of enjoyment to her, but 
she had never been enthusiastic over them. He had 
to confess that he did not altogether understand her. 
She was so different from other girls. He wished 
her to be more like them. Once, at a reception, he 
had seen her bear away the palm amongst a crowd 
of lovely and accomplished women ; he had heard the 
half-suppressed expressions of admiration about him, 
and had seen the adoring glances directed towards 
her; he had noticed the good-natured looks of envy 
thrown at himself. He was proud of her and her 
beauty. To be regarded as the father of such a glori- 
ous creature thrilled him with pleasure. But how 
seldom was it accorded him! The insincerity, the 
cold cynicism and the painful unnaturalness of fash- 
ionable life were not congenial to Violet, and she 


TELL ME THE TRUTH. 


185 


avoided ratlier than sought it. Mr. Frone fretted 
under this, exhibition of her nature. He cautioned 
her against “moping,” and had even shown positive 
displeasure when first informed of her friendship for 
that “singular person, Mrs. Charter.” 

The wish was father to the thought. He jumped 
to the conclusion without a moment’s hesitation: she 
had grown tired of the life she had been leading, and 
had begun to sigh for change and excitement. He 
determined to act upon her suggestion without delay, 
as he, in common with others, knew how fickle was 
a woman’s mind. 

A week passed. It was on a Tuesday that the 
great races at Saratoga came off. What a crowd of 
people were present on the course ! — the rich, the 
poor, the respectable, the disreputable and the fashion- 
able I The grand stand, with its wall of human faces, 
presented a scene of fluttering and varied color. The 
event of the day was being enacted — the race between 
the two most famous horses of the country. 

The final heat was being run. Around the course 
they came, and on their backs the gayly-attired 
jockeys, one wearing a shirt and cap of red, the other 
a shirt and cap of blue. The excitement was intense 
as the horses appeared, straining every nerve and 
muscle of their bodies, their ears back, their eyes 
bursting from their sockets, their necks stretched 
painfully forward. Even the most experienced turfman 
could not detect the slightest advantage on either side. 
They looked like wonderful machines working together. 
But the people ! — they were a sight to behold I Every 


186 


TELL ME THE TRUTH. 


eye was upon the horses. Ladies were standing and 
waving handkerchiefs; men were shouting, shrieking, 
laughing, cursing; some, whose everyday life was se- 
dateness itself, idiotically gesticulating and swinging 
their hats; others suppressed into unnatural calmness 
by the awful excitement of the moment. The next 
few seconds to many would determine fortunes — 
triumph, gain, wealth, failure, despair, ruin! The die 
was being cast. What would be the throw? 

On came the flying horses, their hoofs seeming not 
to touch the ground. The goal was near at hand. 
The jockeys were leaning eagerly forward, lashing 
the flanks of the poor brutes with their whips, as if 
the terrific pace could be increased in that manner. 
And yet it appeared to the expectant throng that 
the horses knew that the next few rods must decide, 
and responded to the whip at every cut with an 
agonized spurt. 

For a brief instant a dead silence reigned. 

It was the culmination of the excitement. A frac- 
tion of a second, and the wire was passed. The signal 
of the winner went up. A mighty shout arose from 
myriad throats, a sigh of relief escaped from many a 
breast. The blue had won! 

“Oh! papa, wasn’t it grand!” cried Yiolet, her face 
radiant with pleasure. 

“I am glad you enjoyed it, Vi.” he answered, calmly; 
“but I did not see it. I was watching you.” 

She did not hear him. 

“The blue, papa, — wasn’t it a noble animal! I 
felt sure it would win!” 


TELL ME THE TRUTH. 


187 


“You are a strange child,” he said, observing her 
curiously; “I never thought that a horse-race would 
engross you so thoroughly. I believe you forgot I was 
at your side!” 

She glanced up at him quickly. The animation 
and pleasure went out of her face. A look of sad 
recollection came into her eyes. 

“I forgot everything, papa. I wish I could do so all 
my life! Now I remember every thing again! I re- 
member myself and you ! ” 

It was a strange speech, and Mr. Frone studied 
over it, but could not understand it. 


188 


MAKSHALLING THE EVIDENCE. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

MAKSHALLING THE EVIDENCE. 

WANT to go over this case with you, Mr. 

JL Hatton, and show you my evidence,” said 
Erasmus Kift to a young man who was sitting on a 
lounge in his inner office. 

The two had just entered a few moments before. 
It was about nine o’clock at night. A drop-light 
stood on the table-desk in the middle of the room,^ 
its shade throwing all the light upon the desk and 
on the face of Mr. Kift, who was seated near it in a 
revolving chair. The other portions of the room and 
the young man were in shadow. 

It was not an unfrequent occurrence for Mr. Kift 
to be found in his office during the late hours, con- 
sulting his law library or working up a case, but it 
was seldom he had a companion with him at such 
times. 

“I am all attention,” answered the party addressed. 

“Mr. Hatton,” continued Kift, “I have confided in 
you, because I believe that you are the right man to 
have control of this case. I have not known you 
very long, but I think I understand you, and I think 
you understand me. You are discreet, pushing, smart, 
and know a good thing when you see it. With me, 
you can see through a millstone, even when the hole 


MARSHALLING THE EVIDENCE. 


189 


is not a very big one. There are plenty of other 
lawyers, Mr. Hatton, whom I know better than L do 
you, but there is not another to whom I would speak 
as I do to you.” 

“You are, certainly, very flattering, Mr. Kift,” said 
the other, modestly. 

“Now, of course, you appreciate my position in 
this case,” pursued Mr. Kift; “as this man’s advisor, 
I cannot take any active part in the proceedings, or 
have my name connected with them, and it may, 
therefore, be possible that you will find me, to all 
appearances, opposed to you, but no one need know 
that Mr. Hatton and Mr. Kift are very good friends 
—hey?” 

“We will have no objections to every one believing 
we are very bitter enemies,” responded the young 
man, with a laugh. 

“ Professionally ,” said Mr. Kift. 

“Professionally,” repeated Mr. Hatton. 

“I see we will get along very well together,” con- 
tinued Mr. Kift, “and I doubt not that we will be 
successful. Take a seat by the desk, and I will state 
the case and exhibit my proofs.” 

Mr. Kift wheeled around to the safe at his elbow, 
and opened it, whilst Hatton drew a chair up to the 
desk and prepared to listen. 

He was a well-proportioned, muscular young man, 
and by many would be accounted handsome. His 
hair and eyes were dark, the latter large and full, 
with an expression in them of boldness or bravery 
rather than of frankness. His smile was not unpleas- 


190 


MARSHALLING THE EVIDENCE. 


ant, set off as it was by very white and even teeth, 
which looked whiter under his black moustache. The 
dress of the man was of the ultra-fashionable order, 
and in striking contrast with that of Mr. Kift. A 
casual observer would have placed his age at thirty- 
five. 

Mr. Kift wheeled around again from the safe and , 
deposited on the desk some large envelopes and 
papers, tied together with a piece of red tape. He 
proceeded to untie them, and examined them care- 
fully, sorting them out in various places. He next 
leaned back, and, putting the tips of his fingers to- 
gether, much as if he were about to pray, began in a 
very measured and explanatory manner: 

“ About a year ago, Mr. Hatton, whilst reading a 
newspaper, my attention was accidentally called to this 
little item.” 

As he spoke he picked out a newspaper clipping 
from the recesses of one of the envelopes and read 
aloud : 

“ ‘Information wanted of the whereabouts of Wil- 
liam Sanders, otherwise called Norton, who left Eng- 
land in 1840. When last heard from, he was in San 
Francisco, California. He is now supposed to be in 
one of the cities of the Eastern States. Any informa- 
tion respecting him will be liberally rewarded by 
addressing, 

111 Thomas Quearle, 

“ ‘Solicitor, 

“ 4 London, England.’ ” 


MARSHALLING THE EVIDENCE. 


191 


Mr. Kift continued: 

“I liave seen such advertisements frequently, and 
did not pay any particular attention to this one; but 
my mind is a peculiar one, and I often recollect 
names and places and trifling incidents which would 
escape the memory of others. It must have been 
fully six months after I had read that advertisement, 
when the very man to whom it referred came into 
this room.” 

“He had seen it also?” questioned Mr. Hatton, in 
an off-hand way, 

“Not a bit of it; he came here as a beggar, and I 
ordered him out. He told me his name as he was 
leaving.” 

“And did not wait to see the effect of the an- 
nouncement ? ” 

“No. I found him afterwards by good luck, and was 
not long in assuring myself that he was the right 
party. I immediately went to the newspaper offices, 
searched the files, and was rewarded by finding what 
I have just read. I wrote to Quearle without delay, 
but did not tell him that I had secured his man. A 
mere probability of my being able to do so was only 
suggested. I wanted to ascertain what there was in 
it, and desired him to reply fully. He did so, as you 
can judge when you hear his letter, which I received 
by return of mail. I wrote under an assumed name, 
as I did not care about having my own known in 
the transaction.” 

Mr. Kift took up a blue sheet of writing paper 
and read as follows: 


192 


MARSHALLING THE EVIDENCE. 


“‘ London, March 1st, 1880. 

“ ‘ Dear Sir : — I take the first opportunity of reply- 
ing to your favor of the 15th of February. 

“‘ Archibald Sanders, of Stockport, died on Decem- 
ber 81st., 1879, leaving a will disposing of his entire 
estate, which was very valuable. By a clause of the 
will a considerable portion of the estate is left to his 
only brother, William, in the event of his being alive, 
and provided he has, also living, a legitimate child or 
children. If dead, and such child or children survive 
him, they are to take the legaey. 

“‘Mr. Sanders died as he lived, a bachelor. He 
was reserved and taciturn and appeared to have had 
no relatives in this country. From what he has told 
me, however, it seems that, many years ago, his 
younger brother, whom he loved very dearly, turned 
out badly. This brother, although shielded and pro- 
tected by Mr. Sanders from the effects and punish- 
ment of his misdoings, at last did something so out- 
rageous that Mr. Sanders was obliged to get him im- 
mediately out of the country. 

“‘He went to the United States for what was then 
supposed to be a temporary sojourn, but, although 
trace of him was kept, for a time, his whereabouts 
soon became and have ever since remained unknown. 

“‘I know that it has always been Mr. Sanders’ de- 
sire to find and reclaim him, if such a thing were pos- 
sible. This wish finds expression even after death by 
the provisions of the will. What his object was in 
making it a precedent condition that the brother 
should have a child or children living I do not know, 


MARSHALLING THE EVIDENCE. 


193 


unless lie thought that if he had married and was the 
father of children there would be some hope of re- 
forming him. With this, however, I have nothing 
to do. 

“‘I am the executor under the will, and am nat- 
urally anxious to carry out its terms, if practicable. 
If the party you suspect really is the right person, 
and you succeed in establishing and proving his iden- 
ity and the other requisite facts, I have no doubt 
you can make it very remunerative to yourself. I 
may add that, in case this devise and bequest fails, 
the portion of the estate so designated falls into the 
residue and goes to several home charitable bodies. 
Yours faithfully, 

‘“Thomas Quearle .” 1 

After reading it, he handed it to Hatton, who ex- 
amined and returned it. 

“I found this hopeful younger brother,” resumed 
Mr. Kift, “ to be nothing better than a miserable 
drunkard. It is astonishing to me at this moment 
how he could have lost all traces of refinement and 
education as completely as he has done, and the only 
explanation is the long- continued companionship of 
depraved men. By making him a present of* money, 
I succeeded in getting him to give an account of him- 
self. I learned that, shortly after his arrival in this 
country, he went to San Francisco, where he remained 
until about two years ago. He. did quite well there for 
a time, and married a respectable woman, by whom he 
had one child — a girl. It was not long, however, 
13 


194 


MARSHALLING THE EVIDENCE. 


before be again fell into bis old ways. One day, in a 
fit of despondency and despair after a long debauch, 
be entered bis house where bis wife was lying in a 
delirious fever, snatched bis baby girl from the nurse, 
and bore it off. He bad beard through an old woman, 
named Nancy Cuddel, of a certain advertisement. Here 
it is, taken from the identical newspaper in which it 
appeared at the time, and which a correspondent of 
mine out there hunted up for me, after considsi^ble 
trouble.” 

He produced this small newspaper cutting, which 
was carefully pasted on a sheet of foolscap: 

“‘ Wanted for adoption — a healthy female miant. 
Address F., this office.’ ” 

“By itself this would hardly be very strong evi- 
dence,” said Hatton; “such advertisements are not 
uncommon.” 

“Very true,” replied Mr. Kift, quickly, “but they 
were not common then or there, as my correspondent 
found no others of that nature at or near that time, 
and Norton remembers the time exactly, and, indeed, 
I do not see how he could forget it. But the pecu- 
liar significance and value of this little piece of docu- 
mentary evidence lies in the fact that it corroborates 
what Nancy Cuddel told Norton then and what she 
says now ” 

“Now!” interrupted Hatton, in astonishment; “you 
don’t mean to say she is living and that you have 
gotten hold of her?” 


MARSHALLING THE EVIDENCE. 195 

“That is exactly what I do mean to say,” said Mr. 
Kift, pleased beyond measure by the implied compli- 
ment to his skill and energy. U I have hold of her 
constructively, and I propose to keep hold of her and 
fetch her here at the proper time and put her in 
your hands, if we find it necessary. My legal corres- 
pondent out there will attend to it.” 

“You have been so thorough, and have already 
done so much in this case, Mr. Kift, that I fear there 
will be little left for me to do.” 

“Don’t be alarmed on that score, my young friend,” 
said Mr. Kift, condescendingly; “you will find plenty 
to occupy you.” 

Hatton smiled and Mr. Kift continued his narra- 
tive. 

“This woman, Cuddel, is still living at a very ad- 
vanced age. Norton says he delivered his child to 
her and she gave it to Augustus Frone. From him 
she received one hundred dollars, which, after deduct- 
ing what we may call a commission, she handed over 
to Norton.” 

“What does she say?” asked Hatton. 

“I am coming to that. My correspondent was in- 
structed by me, after he had found the woman, not to 
intimate to her his knowledge of the facts I have 
just related. Upon being questioned, he found that 
she remembered the circumstances perfectly. She 
said that she herself gave the child to Frone for 
adoption.” 

“Does Norton know what you have done in the 
matter?” 


196 


MARSHALLING THE EVIDENCE. 


“He has a general idea that I am or will be in 
possession of the requisite evidence. It was he who 
first gave me Frone’s name as the man to whom he 
had given his child. As I was already aware that 
Frone had lived in San Francisco, and as the name is 
an uncommon one, I felt sure from the outset. I did 
not intend that Norton should know that Frone re- 
sided here, but the rascal actually found it out, and 
was very indignant at me for keeping it secret. 
What do you suppose he did?” 

“I have no idea.” 

“He went prowling around Frone’s house on inde- 
pendent detective work.” 

“I thought he was always drunk.” 

“Well, that is his usual condition,” said Mr. Kift, 
with a sigh of relief, as if drunkenness was the one 
redeeming feature in Norton’s character, “and yet he is 
shrewd and designing enough, drunk or sober. I 
will give you an instance. Hearing that this girl 
was visiting at a little village called Brementown, it 
occurred to him it would be a good idea to go and 
see her. Without disclosing his object, he got money 
from me for that purpose. After he had left me, I 
remembered his manner and some words that he had 
said, and felt uneasy about him. I went to his haunts 
and ascertained that he had gone out of the city.” 

“You followed him?” 

“I followed him to Brementown.” 

“Did he see the girl?” 

“Yes, and was kicked out of the place for his pains, 
but he managed to go there again. He appeared to 


MARSHALLING THE EVIDENCE. 


197 


have some sort of a confused notion that he would 
be able to get money in that quarter, as well as 
from me. A surprise was in store for him in his 
second visit. He met his wife.” 

“The mother of the girl!” 

“ T v ^y were both there, under the same roof, and 
strangers to each other.” 

“Did Norton tell her the real state of things?” 

“He says not. It is hardly probable that he did. 
There was no reason for it, and it would be more 
likely to injure than to benefit him.” 

Mr. Kift appeared to have finished his presentation 
of the case, and looked expectantly at Hatton as if 
it was his turn to say something. Hatton put his 
single glass into his eye, nursed one of his knees, and 
studied the opposite wall. Then he said: 

“Have you decided upon the form of procedure?” 

“Habeas Corpus,” replied Mr. Kift, shortly, quickly 
and decisively. 

* “I thought as much,” observed Hatton, reflectively; 
“I suppose it would be the best way.” 

“There is not a particle of doubt about it,” said 
Mr. Kift. “The facts will have to be established to 
the satisfaction of Quearle, and I presume also of the 
English Probate Court, if contested by the residuary 
legatees. They will have to be decided judicially.” 

“By the writ of Habeas Corpus?” 

“Precisely. It would certainly satisfy Quearle, and 
if the residuary legatees still opposed payment, it 
would yet be important evidence to be used in the 
English Courts. I imagine that Quearle is the only! 


198 


MARSHALLING THE EVIDENCE. 


man we need trouble ourselves about. If Frone 
could be induced to give bis own evidence, the mat- 
ter would be simplified indeed, but, of course, he will 
be bitterly opposed to the whole business. The Court 
here, no doubt, will refuse to let Norton have the 
girl, on the ground that he is an unfit person to act 
as guardian, but it must necessarily determine the fact 
of relationship, and we will get it in a written opin- 
ion, which is all we want — d’ye see?” 

“Perfectly,” said Hatton, again sticking his glass in 
his eye and bringing it to bear upon Mr. Kift; “the 
plan is a good one, and I have nothing to suggest. 
I will take the case.” 


A LITERARY GENIUS. 


199 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A LITERARY GENIUS. 

T HE early days of a pleasing autumn had come 
and gone, and the chill and bleak November 
had inaugurated a general search for winter clothing, 
and set the fires burning in the open grates. 

When the first cold winds of the coming winter 
begin to make us shiver, there is nothing we appre- 
ciate more than a good warm fire. It is a positive 
and delightful novelty. The bright spring, the long 
sleepy summer and the wan, yet charming autumn 
have almost effaced it from our memory, but when 
one day we return home, after sundry inhospitable 
encounters at various corners with the cutting blasts 
of the impending cold season, nothing among things 
inanimate seems so friendly as a comfortable room, a 
pair of slippers and the blaze on the hearth. 

So, at least, appeared to think Mr. Alfred Twolit, 
sitting, poker in hand, before his modest fire in an 
uncarpeted little room on the fourth floor back of 
Mrs. Dare’s boarding-house. A table stood near him, 
and on it an inkstand, a confused bundle of manu- 
script and a half- smoked pipe. Twolit was not wri- 
ting, however, bat leaning forward, with his elbows on 
his knees, looking into the glowing coals. A knock 
at his chamber door aroused him from his reverie. 


200 


A LITERARY GENIUS. 


He was in the act of rising to obey the summons, 
when the door opened and Charley Chanwood stood 
on the threshold. Surprise was on the faces of the 
two men. The intruder was the first to speak. 

“I beg your pardon, but I thought this was Mr. 
Harper’s room^ and, knowing him so well, I hardly 
thought it necessary to wait for an invitation to 
enter.” 

“It was a very natural mistake,” said Alfred; “his 
room is next to mine, and the doors are as like as 
two peas. I don’t think he is in at present. "Won’t 
you take a seat and wait for him?” 

“Thank you; I believe I will,” said Charley, dispo- 
sing himself leisurely in the only other chair in the room. 

“Rather cold outside!” ventured Alfred, commenc- 
ing a vigorous attack on the fire with the poker. 

“Yes, but it is very comfortable here.” 

Alfred stopped poking the fire, and his eyes wand- 
ered wonderingly around the scantily furnished apart- 
ment, as if in search of some sign of comfort. He 
evidently had no idea that the remark was only a 
pleasant compliment. Charley noticed the action and 
added, good-humoredly: 

“Oh! I see you don’t go in much for luxury, and 
I think you’re right about that, but then you have 
everything you require, and I’m sure I don’t see what 
you want with more.” 

Alfred studied Charley in a puzzled way. He 
could detect nothing in his face or his manner but 
the most solemn seriousness. Then with a sigh he 
again turned to the fire. 


A LITERARY GENIUS. 


201 


Charley observed him curiously. The black, thread- 
bare clothes, the white, pinched face and the dark, 
sunken eyes of the man before him spoke little of 
comfort or luxury for the occupant of that dreary 
room, and Charley felt a twinge of conscience for 
having uttered the lightly spoken words. Who and 
what was he, and how did he earn his precarious 
livelihood ? The manuscript on the table suggested 
an answer. As he glanced at it, Alfred observed 
him. Instantly his eyes brightened and he exclaimed, 
proudly : 

“ 1 am one of the literati /” 

“It looks as if you were not far from your work,” 
said Charley, nodding in the direction of the manu- 
script. 

“I always have it with me,” cried Alfred, enthusi- 
astically, “and I’ll tell you why: I never let an idea 
escape me, and, if a good one occurs to me, down 
it goes!” 

“What is your — line?” asked Charley, stumbling at 
the last word, in a vain endeavor to think of some 
more uncommercial term. 

“I have no particular one,” replied Alfred, his face 
ablaze with enthusiasm; “I have written history, po- 
litical economy, science, philosophy, poetry and fic- 
tion! This,” he said, tapping the bundle on the table 
triumphantly, “is a novel upon which I am now en- 
gaged!” 

“Indeed!” Charley was by no means certain that 
he was not closeted with a lunatic. “What is the 
name of your novel?” 


202 


A LITERARY GENIUS. 


“I do not know, but I shall when I have finished 
it. I never name my books until then. I want to 
ask you a question. I have not determined yet 
whether I will make my heroine’s hair light or dark. 
What would you say?” 

“Make it light,” suggested Charley, thinking of 
Grace. 

“Good! She shall have light hair! My hero is a 
fine character.” 

“Most of them are,” put in Charley. 

“ Mine is unlike all others. My villain is ” 

“Of the deepest dye,” again interrupted Charley, 
greatly amused. 

“Yes, but the wickedness of my hero is peculiar to 
himself alone. The plot of my story is novel and in- 
genious. Do you know how I make my plots and 
find my characters?” 

Charley shook his head. 

“I visit the scenes which I put in my books — no 
matter where they are or how unpleasant; I find my 
characters in actual life, make their acquaintance, talk 
with them, draw them out, and get them to tell me 
their history. Every man has a history!” 

“Not a bad idea,” interpolated his listener. 

“A magnificent idea! Truth is stranger than fic- 
tion, and fiction must borrow from truth. Within the 
last day or two I have discovered a character who 
has told me a remarkable story. It is all about his 
child whom he had lost. He is a rough, uncouth 
fellow, but his tale is fraught with interest. I shall 
see him again. By the aid of a little money ” 


A LITERARY GENIUS. 


203 


He paused, for he heard a noise in the adjoining 
room. It seemed to break the spell — the light went 
out of his face — he talked rationally again. He even 
looked mortified at the outbreak of his own weakness 
and anxious to get rid of his visitor. 

“I am afraid I have bored you,” he said, depreca- 
tingly. “That is Mr. Harper in his room.” 

“You interested me very much,” Charley hastened 
to assure him, backing in the direction of the door. 
“I hope I may have the pleasure of meeting you, 
again.” 

Frank Harper’s room, into which he stepped, was 
decidedly more comfortable in appearance than that 
of Alfred Twolit. It was nicely carpeted, a ^small 
library of books stood in one corner, and some little 
pieces of fancy work, here and there, gave evidence 
that a feminine hand had much to do with the pre- 
vailing state of things. 

“Is Mrs. Dare a specialist in these cases ?” inquired 
Charley, walking up to the mantelpiece and exami- 
ning a picture of Grace. 

“What cases?” said Frank. 

Charley jerked his head towards Alfred’s apart- 
ment. 

“Alfred Twolit! Have you been in there?” 

“Just escaped!” was the laconic reply. “Are there 
any more patients in the house?” 

“This is a boarding-house, and we are all patients. 
How did you get in?” 

“By mistake, I assure you. Why don’t you ask 
how I got out ?' 1 


204 


A LITERARY GENIUS. 


“Oh! Alfred is not sucli a fool as you seem to 
think. He is only cracked on one subject. He be- 
lieves himself a great writer. It is said, you know, 
that we are all crazy on some subject or other!” 

Charley glanced at him sharply, and half-suspected 
there was a covert allusion to himself in the remark. 
He had gotten to know Frank very well within the 
last few months, and liked him better. The cause 
for his increased partiality was not so much in Frank 
himself as in some one else. He was her brother 
and she loved him. Logically he ought to do the 
same. 

Well, he was ready to confess that he was crazy 
on one subject, and that no other than Grace Harper. 
Already he had confessed that much to her. The in- 
tensity and durability of his passion had surprised 
and delighted himself. There was no longer any 
reason to doubt that he was experiencing the ecstatic 
thrills of true love. None other could have stood 
the test to which it had been put. He had called 
regularly and daily at Mrs. Dare’s boarding-house; he 
had borne the suspicious watching of that worthy 
landlady with becoming meekness, and the curious 
glances of the maiden lady on the second floor withr 
out flinching; he had severed his connection with the 
Convivial Club, of which he had long been an hon- 
ored member, and had steadfastly refused to give the 
sorrowing brothers of that organization any satisfac- 
tory reason for his action; he had neglected his social 
duties shamefully, and his absence was noticed at 
more than one fashionable gathering. It was all 


A LITERARY GENIUS. 


205 


Grace’s doings, and the best of it was that he felt to 
be by her side, to look into her bright eyes and hear 
her sweet voice compensated him for everything. 

“How are yonr studies coming on with Darcy?” 
he asked, returning to his contemplation of the pic- 
ture. 

“I have seen very little of him,” Frank replied. 
“He was out of the city until late in the season, and 
has been so busy since his return that he had not 
much time to devote to me. I expect to have a 
long conference with him in a few days about my in- 
vention and discovery. I believe ” 

“Of course, you do; I never saw a man yet, who 
claimed to have invented something, who didn’t 
believe there was millions in it. Wasn’t Darcy at 
Saratoga?” 

“I heard he was.” 

“So did I,” dryly; “did you hear of any one else in 
particular being there?” 

“No.” 

“It is not to be expected that you should, for 
when you are not drawing deeds, you're thinking of 
inventing machines, and your attention is never occu- 
pied by outside matters.” 

“You are wrong there,” said Frank, very quickly, 
but vouchsafing no explanation. 

Charley walked back and forth, impatiently. He 
took out his watch and asked: 

“Isn’t Grace back from school yet? It is four 
o’clock.” 

“I’ll go to my mother’s room and inquire,” said 


206 


A LITERARY GENIUS. 


Frank, and left the apartment. He came back in a 
few moments and said that Grace had not returned. 

“Then I’ll go and meet her,” said Charley, picking 
up his hat and making a basty exit. He hurriedly 
walked up the street along which he knew she would 
be coming, and, turning a corner suddenly, ran against 
her. 

“I declare Charley, you are a jack-in-the box!” 

“I was getting actually uneasy about you, Grace,” 
as they began to walk together. “What delayed you 
so long?” 

“ The shop windows, I suppose. I would have 
hurried home if I had known you were waiting for 
me. It was real sweet of you, Charley, to be uneasy 
about me!” 

“I wish you would give up this teaching business. 
There is no necessity for it. I’m sure it doesn’t 
agree with you.” 

“Now, you know, if you saw more of me, you 
would get tired of me.” 

“I wouldn’t do anything of the kind,” he returned, 
savagely. 

“Oh! yes, you would,” continued the stubborn 
young lady, tantalizingly, “just as you did with Min- 
nie Sailer and Rose Tremaine and Olive Marner and 
— all the rest of them.” 

“Well, when we are married, I expect to see a 
good deal of you, and do you suppose that is going 
to make me tired of you?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said the exasperating 
Grace. 


A LITERARY GENIUS. 


207 


“I wish we were married now, ana then that 
school would have to hunt around for another 
teacher.” 

“What is the use of being so foolish?” she said, 
laughing at his troubled expression. “Don’t you en- 
joy love before marriage?” 

“Yes, but it’s nothing to what it is afterwards.” 

“What do you know about it afterwards?” she 
imperatively demanded. 

“Just as much as you do,” he rejoined. 

“And that’s nothing; I know this — that all these 
pleasant periods in our lives are given us to enjoy, 
and we ought to be thankful for them, and appreciate 
them, instead of sighing for something different.” 

“Don’t moralize, Grace; you’re not a success at it.” 

She merely gave him a push, and punished him, 
with several moments of silence, for his speech, but 
presently something occurred to her, and she broke 
out: 

“Oh! Charley! I forgot to tell you! Mrs. Charter 
is going to give me a ball!” 

“I wish she would mind her own business,” said 
Charley, ruefully. 

“ Why, Charley ! ” she said, affecting the air of a 
mother reasoning with a spoiled child, “you don’t 
care, do you?” 

“Why should I care, if you don’t? You’ll have a 
high old time, I suppose; nobody knows that we are 
engaged.” 

“That’s real mean of you,” she said, pathetically, 
wounded. “ It pleased me because it showed how 

I 


208 


A LITERARY GENIUS. 


much Mrs. Charter thinks of me. I’m sure I don’t 
care particularly about the ball ,” — undisturbed by the 
incredulity in his face — “but I think it is my duty 
to accept it. I’ve a good mind also to make you 
jealous when it comes off, and see if you love me as 
much as you say!” 

“Grace, please try and talk sensibly sometimes,” 
said Charley, with the air of exaggerated entreaty. 

They had reached Mrs. Dare’s, and the last speeches 
had been made whilst standing at the foot of the 
steps. Charley happened to look over Grace’s shoul- 
der and descried the maiden lady of the second floor 
watching them like a hawk from the parlor window. 

“Grace!” he whispered, melodramatically, “we are 
observed! ‘Curls’ is watching us! I must depart! 
Fear not! I am always with thee!” 

He squeezed her hand tightly and, lifting his hat 
politely to the vigilant “Curls,” sauntered down the 
street. 


THREE CONFESSIONS IN ONE HAY. 


209 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THREE CONFESSIONS IN ONE HAY. 

« M R. HARPER!” called out a voice from the 
1VI private office of Kift & Kenly. 

Frank dropped his pen and answered the call. 

“Here is a paper which Mr. Frone has requested 
me to send him. It is his will, so be careful with it 
and place it in his own hands.” 

Frank took the paper, which was sealed in a large 
envelope, put it in the breast pocket of his coat and 
started out, his face bright with the prospect of an 
anticipated pleasure; he might possibly see Yiolet. 

Since his vacation at the “Mansion,” he had met 
her two or three times at Mrs. Dare’s boarding-house, 
where she had been to call on Grace, and once he 
had gone with his sister to the Frone residence. He 
would have called there again, but she had left the 
city with her father. She had only lately returned. 

He had thought of her — perhaps too often — and of 
those few brief summer days when they had talked 
together, and be had confided to her his hopes and 
ambitions. She had seemed so interested, listened so 
attentively and sympathized with him so earnestly. 
What a gentle, lovely and sincere girl she was! No, 
there could be no harm in fondly hoping he might 
see her for a few moments that morning I 
14 


210 


THREE CONFESSIONS IN ONE DAY, 


He thought of his despised situation, his miserable 
struggle for existence, and it needed nothing more for 
him to realize how high she was above his reach. 
He might look upon her, but that was all. 

Yet his pulse quickened when he stood in front of 
the door and awaited the answer to his ring. A 
man-servant informed him that Mr. Frone was not at 
home, but was expected shortly. He inquired for 
Miss Frone and sent up his card. 

In a short while she entered the drawing-room and 
advanced to meet him with outstretched hand. There 
was a look of unmistakable and genuine gladness 
upon her countenance, and the blood rushed to his 
face as he sprang to his feet and fervently clasped 
her hand. 

“This is, indeed, a pleasant surprise, Mr. Harper,” 
she said, as she seated herself opposite him; “I was 
beginning to think you had forgotten all about me. 
I have thought of you very often.” 

How innocently the words were spoken, and yet 
how dangerous they were to him! 

“You have never been absent from my thoughts at 
all!” he blurted out, impetuously. 

He saw the look of gentle surprise in her eyes 
and realized that he had said" too much. He hastened 
to correct his error, and said, in his natural voice: 

“I called this morning to see your father, Miss 
Violet, with a message from Mr. Kift, and, finding 
him out, asked for you.” 

This was rather going to the other extreme. 

“It was very kind of you,” she answered, smiling; 


THREE CONFESSIONS IN ONE DAY. 


211 


“ you thought I might relieve the tedium of your 
waiting? ” 

Poor Frank was so horrified at what he thought 
the brutal rudeness of his speech that Yiolet was im- 
mediately inundated with a flood of apologies. He im- 
plored her, in the most vehement manner, to believe 
him when he said that the only pleasure he had 
dared to hope for that morning was the possibility of 
seeing her. His distress was really painful to witness, 
and she was astonished that he should take her 
words so literally. 

“Perhaps, the rudeness was mine, Mr. Harper, in 
giving you credit for such an unworthy motive. You 
must not think all girls mean exactly what they say. 
Now, tell me about your discovery.” 

In an instant his face was aglow with pleasure. 

“I am going to succeed, Miss Yiolet!” 

“I knew you would; I knew it from the first. 
Such enthusiasm and perseverance as yours must be 
rewarded.” 

“You don’t know how I appreciate those words,” 
he said, quickly. “We poor, unfortunate fellows, who 
claim to have discovered or invented something, get 
so little encouragement.” 

“My encouragement comes rather late,” she said. 

“I am not speaking of what you have just said. I 
mean your utterances all along.” 

“Why, what did I say before?” she asked, in a 
puzzled way. 

He looked at her so reproachfully that she was touched. 

“Oh! I remember I did say something about it. 


212 


THREE CONFESSIONS IN ONE DAY. 


You are not going to tell me, however, that a few 
random words from a girl, upon a subject she knows 
nothing about, can be construed into any wonderful 
encouragement? ” 

“I tell you this,” he cried, his voice quavering with 
emotion, “that those few words will be the cause of 
my success; that I was disheartened before I heard 
them, but that since then I have never doubted my 
triumph because you said I would triumph; that my 
work has been a labor of love because I have been 
working for you!” 

“For me!” she exclaimed, in amazement, rising 
from her seat and looking around despairingly. 

“Yes, for you!" he went on, losing all control of 
himself. “When almost insurmountable difficulties be- 
set me, I said, 4 1 will overcome them — she said I 
would!’ When people laughed at what they called 
my infatuation, I thought of you and said, ‘What do I 
care! She did not laugh at me;’ and when I look 
forward now to my certain success, so near at hand, 
— -for it is certain — I am thinking not of my own 
triumph, but of the pleasure it will give you!” 

He took a step towards her and grasped her hand. 
His own was hot and trembling. His terrible earn- 
estness frightened her. 

“Mr. Harper,” she began, “you have exaggerated 
what you are pleased to call my words of encourage- 
ment. I admit I have' wished you well in your 
undertaking, and have always felt sanguine as to the 
result. If you were — my brother — I could not feel 
more interested in your labors.” 


THREE CONFESSIONS IN ONE DAY. 


213 


It was delicately done, but it was a hint full of 
portentous meaning, and it struck home. He felt the 
gentle though effectual check, and knew that he could 
go no further. It was not a blow, for he had ex- 
pected it. The folly and madness of his words came 
to him like a flash. He was not angry, but grateful 
to her that she had brought him to his senses. 

He was still holding her hand when Mr. Frone 
walked into the room. Before he was able to release 
it, he saw that he had been observed. With a good 
deal of constraint and embarrassment, he presented the 
paper. 

“Mr. Kift told me to give this to you in person,” 
he said, “or I should have left it for you.” 

The cold, distant look of inquiry upon Mr. Frone’ s 
face had prompted ’the explanation, but it did not ex- 
plain Violet’s presence, or his own lover-like attitude. 
He flushed indignantly at the narrow scrutiny Mr. 
Frone gave him, and stood erect and looked him 
fearlessly in the face. 

“Thank you,” said Mr. Frone, stiffly; “I am sorry 
to have kept you sodlong.” 

Then the master of the house stood silently waiting 
as if for him to go. Frank bowed, and, in his eager- 
ness to quit the place, was rushing out of the room 
without even a look at Violet. Her voice arrested 
him. 

“You must come to see me the next time, Mr. 
Harper,” she said, sweetly, “and leave papa out of 
the question. Mind you, I don’t consider this a call 
upon me at all ” 


214 


THREE CONFESSIONS IN ONE DAY. 


At the sound of her voice, Frank stopped and 
turned. The whole expression of his face changed 
and softened. 

“ There is nothing would give me greater pleasure,” 
he said, politely and sincerely, as he withdrew. 

That night he went to the study of Professor 
Darcy at the University, and found it vacant. It was 
a delightful place and he had long envied Darcy its 
possession. Two handsome book-cases flanked the 
walls, mostly filled with books of a scientific nature. 
A large double window entirely took up one end of 
the room, heavily curtained and flooding the interior 
with light. On the floor was a luxurious Turkish 
rug. The furniture was of highly polished dark wood. 
Several choice engravings and quite a number of 
small etchings and water colors adorned the walls. 
A small stand in a corner, upon which were thrown 
a couple of dozens of novels and sundry magazines 
and periodicals, showed that the owner of the room 
kept pace with the literature of the day. 

The light was burning brightly when he entered 
the room. He walked over to the desk and seated 
himself in the comfortable arm-chair before it. Darcy 
had long before given him carte blanche , and he was 
not slow to take advantage of the offer. He had 
spent many hours there, reading and studying. 

On the top of the desk, and at one side, was a ' 
spectroscope, the property of Darcy, and beside it a 
roll of manuscript and several drawings. 

Frank gave a sigh as he glanced at them, for they 
had been left there at least a week before, for Darcy 


THREE CONFESSIONS IN ONE DAY. 


215 


to read and examine, and as yet they did not appear 
to have been touched. His discovery of the new at- 
tribute of the violet ray of light and his process of 
measuring were there set forth. He had agreed to 
risk everything on Darcy’s opinion, and here he was 
in suspense and Darcy had not even looked at the 
results of his long and patient study. 

He moved wearily in his seat, picked up a pen, 
and began absently to trace lines upon a sheet of 
paper lying before him. His thoughts went back to 
his visit of the morning. They were melancholy 
enough, but not bitter. He loved Yiolet with the 
same hopeless, despairing love; he believed he would 
always love her. But she was not for him. Had he 
not told himself that before? Why did he not believe 
himself, instead of making her say it? 

It was a sad retrospection how this young girl had 
come into his life. He must be satisfied with her 
image, not herself. If any one had told him six 
months before that a lovely girlish face would come 
between his eyes and the pages of his books, he 
would have laughed at the idea. 

The pen in his hand was tracing no more lines, 
but, unconsciously to him, writing over and over again 
the word “ Yiolet ” — “ Yiolet ” — “ Yiolet.” George 
Darcy behind him was looking down over his shoul- 
der. No smile escaped from him as he saw the penV 
betrayal of the secret. Frank felt a hand laid gently 
upon him. He was on his feet in an instant. 

“Do you love her, Frank?” asked Darcy, kindly, 
pointing to the name. 


216 


THREE CONFESSIONS IN ONE DAY. 


For a moment Frank looked bewildered, and then 
the knowledge of what he had been doing came to 
him, and, letting his eyes fall guiltily, he answered, 
in a low tone: 

“Everybody loves her.” 

“You are right, Frank; everybody loves her. I 
love her!” 

Frank was too much stunned by the disclosure to 
utter a word. The two men stood regarding each 
other silently. Strive as he would to keep it back, a 
film came before Frank’s eyes. He took a step 
backwards as if he were weak, and rested one arm 
upon the mantelpiece. 

“ How — long — have— you — loved — her? ” he asked, 
brokenly. 

“Is it necessary to say, when to see her is to love 
her?” was the response. 

Frank’s head sank into his hands. Darcy made a 
movement towards him and asked, gently: 

“And you, Frank?” 

There was no answer. 

“Does she — is your affection — returned?” he per- 
sisted; “you know, after what I have said, I have a 
right to ask!” 

Still there was no reply. A struggle was going on 
in the young man’s breast. It was all clear to him 
now. Even if he had aspired to win her love, her 
heart was already won. And this was the happy 
man who had it in his keeping! This man, whom 
he admired above^ all others — his friend, his benefac- 
tor! This man, who was now standing humbly before 


THREE CONFESSIONS IN ONE DAY. 


217 


him, as if he had done him some great wrong ! 
Eather was it not he who was wronging his friend? 
How blind and selfish he was! He ought to rejoice 
at the good fortune of one so worthy of it! Where 
in the whole wide world was there one who would 
make her more happy? Nowhere! 

Yet it is hard to give up the one we love, even to 
our dearest and best friend! But Frank triumphed. 
Raising his head, he walked up to Darcy and took 
him by the hand. 

“ 1 am glad you love her, Mr. Darcy. You are 
the only man who is worthy of her. I was a fool to 
think of her, and the more so after she had seen 
you; but, of course, I never • thought of that,” he 
added, apologetically; “I only thought of her, and the 
spectroscope. You must not believe that to-night is 
the first time I have realized how foolish were my 
hopes — I knew it all along!” 

This was strange language to come from the lips 
of one who had but a moment before avowed his 
love. The solution of the paradox, however, was not 
difficult. It was found in Frank’s own nature and 
his intense admiration for Darcy. 

“ Frank,” said the latter, in all the earnestness and 
gratitude of his soul, “you are the most generous 
man I ever knew!” 

As if it were over now, and he had determined 
his own fate, Frank showed by his manner that he 
did not want to talk any more about it. His eyes 
were on the spectroscope. He would give his head 
and heart to it alone henceforward. Darcy caught 


218 


THREE CONFESSIONS IN ONE DAY. 


the look and read it. Instantly his face was suffused 
with pleasure. 

“Sit down, Frank. I have something different 
to speak to you about. I have good news for you.” 

Frank’s heart leaped within him, for something 
told him there was going to be, at least, some reward 
for the sacrifice he had made. 

“Go on,” he said; “I am listening.” 

Darcy’s voice was tremulous with emotion as he 
said : 

“I have examined your paper. Your discovery 
and invention are both wonderful. You have been 
right from the beginning. This will electrify the scien- 
tific world, and you will be a great man ! ” tie 
muttered sadly to himself: “He has won his love — I 
have not!” 


ALFRED IS APPRECIATED. 


219 


CHAPTER XX. 

ALFRED IS APPRECIATED. 

W HEN Alfred Twolit confided to Charley Chan- 
- wood the fact that he was a writer, and 
told of his original method of collecting “ material ” 
for his novels, the latter paid but little attention to 
him. Charley had always spoken of him as the 
“Literati,” and never thought, when he thought of 
him at all, that his writings, or his methods, had any 
other foundation except that furnished by a disordered 
mind. 

And yet there was some truth in what Alfred had 
said. His “works,” it is true, were innocent of publi- 
cation. Many were the articles he had penned, de- 
signed as valuable contributions to “history, political 
economy, science, philosophy, poetry and fiction,” to 
use his own language, but the editors and publishers 
to whom he sent them, with confident expectation of 
grateful acceptance, invariably returned his manuscript, 
along with little polite printed notes of that madden- 
ing form, “Declined with thanks. The editor regrets, 
etc.” 

What he had been pleased to call his “novels” 
fared no better. A publisher had yet to be found, 
brave enough to print one. 

Such a lack of appreciation would have dampened 


220 


ALFRED IS APPRECIATED. 


tlie ardor of any aspirant for literary fame, except 
that of Alfred Twolit. Far from serving to diminish 
his enthusiasm, or start a doubt in his mind of his 
own transcendent genius, it only redoubled his ener- 
gies, and the piles of written sheets in his room as- 
sumed alarming proportions. 

Neither did he speak more than the truth when he 
described his manner of hunting up “subjects,” as he 
termed them, which he flattered himself were faith- 
fully reproduced in the pages of that fiction destined 
to be read by no mortal eye but his own. In en- 
deavoring to obtain interviews with the different indi- 
viduals whom he selected to honor, he was always 
charmingly frank, stating his proposed object, pro- 
ducing note-book and pencil, or, perhaps, a formidable 
roll of virgin paper, and assuring the party, as a 
communicative inducement, that his name would be 
indelibly inscribed on the imperishable roll of fame. 

His peculiarity soon came to be well-known, and 
even the daily papers had lately referred to him 
rather humorously, alluding to him as the “Plotter” 
and “Our Dickens,” but he was blissfully unconscious 
of his notoriety. He had the most unbounded faith 
in everything told him, and in quarters where he was 
known wags and other malicious persons took great 
delight in detailing to him some of the most mar- 
velous stories, which the credulous Twolit received 
without a suspicion of their fictitious character, and 
at once jotted down to be used in the construction of 
some wonderful plot. 

One night, Alfred stopped shortly in the midst of 


ALFRED IS APPRECIATED. 


221 


his writing, thrust a roll of paper into his pocket, and 
hurriedly left the house. He had been busily en- 
gaged in executing a pen-picture of Bill Norton, and 
suddenly recollected that he was to meet him that 
very night. Norton was the interesting character of 
whose discovery he had apprised Mr. Chanwood. 

Arriving at the “ Sailors’ Retreat,” Alfred timidly 
entered the bar-room and looked around him in a 
frightened way. When they had first met, Norton 
brought him to the “Retreat,” and, in a boisterous 
manner, assured every one there that Twolit was his 
particular friend. Notwithstanding the protection this 
odd presentation would seem to afford, Twolit invari- 
ably exhibited a nervous fear whenever he found 
himself within the hallowed precincts. Now, he 
stood undecidedly just within the door, and looked 
appealingly at the barkeeper. 

This functionary, whose business comprised the 
threefold duty of dispensing his alleged liquors, en- 
forcing payment therefore, and ejecting the impecuni- 
ous, was, as we have seen, a sour-visaged man, and 
inclined to brood in sarcastic melancholy. He was 
painfully awake to the necessity of so acting that 
not even his most bitter enemy could charge him 
with ever having attempted to do or say anything 
which might possibly be construed into civility of 
any kind. 

Twolit’s reception on this occasion was little better 
than that accorded Mr. Kift, when he first went in 
search of Norton. It was some time before the bar- 
keeper, who rejoiced in the name of Mike, became 


222 


ALFRED IS APPRECIATED. 


aware of Alfred’s presence, but at last a modest cough, 
attracted his attention. 

“Well, what d’ye want?” he demanded, gruffly. 

“Is Mr. Norton in?” asked Alfred, meekly. 

“No, Mister Norton ain’t in,” replied Mike, with a 
contemptuous emphasis on the word “ Mister.” 

“Perhaps, he will be shortly? I’ll just take a seat 
and wait a few minutes,” said Alfred, making an 
effort to speak cheerfully. 

Mike did not deign to reply, but went to work to 
wipe off the dregs of liquors from the bar with a 
dirty cloth. Alfred grew bold enough to seat himself 
in a retired corner, and took out liis sheets of paper. 
This action did not escape Mike’s observation, and his 
curiosity was straightway aroused. 

“Yer one o’ them newspaper fellers, are ye?” he 
inquired, banteringly. 

“Oh! dear no!” Alfred exclaimed, quickly, anxious 
to be relieved of such a suspicion; “I’m an author.” 

“A WHAT ! ” shrieked the exasperated man be- 
hind the bar. » 

“An author.” 

“The h — 11 ye say! What’s an author?” 

“A man that writes,” explained Alfred, very much 
intimidated. 

“Well, ain’t that what I said ye was? Didn’t I 
ask ye if ye was a newspaper feller, and ain’t a news- 
paper feller a feller what writes? What d’ye go and 
lie about it fur?” 

Alfred would have liked to have shown Mike 
where his premises were faulty, and at the same time 


ALFEED IS APPKECIATED. 


223 


repel the gross imputation on liis own veracity, but 
he was more than satisfied to be able to convince his 
interrogator that he had misunderstood the question 
first propounded, which, being a signal triumph for 
the votary of Bacchus, somewhat mollified his wrath, 
and he relapsed into silence. 

Ten minutes passed and Norton, very drunk, came 
into the room, followed by Hatton. It was Hatton’s 
first visit to the locality, and the expression on his 
face showed that he was not very favorably impressed 
with it. 

He had been absent from the city for fully a 
month on pressing and important business in the 
West, as he informed Mr. Kift, and returning in the 
night, he ran across Norton within a couple of blocks 
of the depot, in his usual state of intoxication. Un- 
like Mr. Kift, he had neVer courted the acquaintance 
of the abject Norton, and that individual exhibited a 
drunken surprise when the young lawyer slipped his 
arm through his own and requested to be shown the 
way to the “ Retreat.” He had no great liking for 
Hatton, because when he approached him for money 
he was always referred to Mr. Kift, and on one 
occasion he had declared emphatically that he “was 
a -bad lot.” Befuddled as he was with drink on the 
night in question, he yet suspected some new and not 
altogether disinterested motive in the unwonted 
friendliness, and although he granted the request and 
took his companion down and along Johnson Street, 
he preserved a dogged and sullen silence, nor did the 
frequent questions of the latter elicit from him any- 


224 : 


ALFRED IS APPRECIATED. 


thing but assenting and dissenting grunts. The only 
avenue to his heart was money, and he had told Mr. 
Kift more than once that, although that gentleman 
might, he never would recognize Hatton as his lawyer. 

Upon his entrance, Hatton immediately put his glass 
in his eye and proceeded leisurely to take a survey 
of the place. From the place his glances traveled to 
the occupants. He regarded Twolit curiously for 
nearly a minute; next he gave a passing look at 
Norton, probably to see if the gaslight improved his 
appearance; and then his eye wandered until it met 
that of the barkeeper, who was scowling furiously at 
him. The novel spectacle in the “Ketreat” of a 
fashionably attired young man, idly twirling a cane 
between his fingers, with a glass stuck in his eye, had 
managed to work Mike into a smothered state of 
rage quite frightful to beholcf. 

The presence of the others appeared to infuse Nor- 
ton with new spirit. 

“Hello! Newsy!” he said to Alfred, giving him a 
familiar slap on the back, “come back for more? 
Did you write what I gave you?” 

“Long ago; I only want a few more details, and I 
shall not bother you again.” 

“Bother? Why, it’s real fun, old man! Come up and 
have a drink. Come up, boys,” to a couple of rough- 
looking customers, who were lounging by a table, 
with their heads and arms resting upon it, apparently 
asleep. They woke up with surprising promptitude 
and strode over to the bar. 

Alfred expostulated, but Norton took him by the 


ALFRED IS APPRECIATED. 


225 


collar and forced him to join the others. Hatton 
rested his elbow upon the bar and twisted his 
moustache. 

“Put out the poison, Mike,” ordered Horton. 

Mike shoved a black bottle along the bar. The 
two who had been so easily awakened filled their 
glasses; Horton poured out drinks for Twolit and 
himself, and then passed the bottle to .Hatton. 

“I don’t think I want any,” said Hatton, as he 
moved it aside. 

“What’s the matter with ye?” exploded Mike, 
unable any longer to contain himself. “Ain’t it good 
enough fur ye?” 

“That’s just it,” said Hatton, with perfect compo- 
sure; “I never drink such wretched stuff as that!” 

Every one was aghast, and the barkeeper dumb- 
founded. Ho one within his recollection had ever 
dared to use such insulting language to him. He 
seized a heavy beer glass, with the intention of 
throwing it at Hatton’s head, but there was something 
in the gentleman’s eye that made him hesitate. On 
Alfred’s face was an expression of horror, and he 
confidently expected to be an involuntary witness of 
a shocking homicide. Hatton alone appeared uncon- 
cerned, and, if his indifference was assumed, it was 
very well done. The suspense of the moment was 
broken by Horton, who said, carelessly: 

“Well, perhaps the liquor don’t suit such as you, 
but it’s good enough for us. Here’s your health, 
anyhow!” 

The invited two and Horton swallowed the contents 

15 


226 


ALFRED IS APPRECIATED. 


of their glasses with great relish, but poor Alfred 
strangled himself at the first mouthful, to the evident 
amusement of the others. 

“Seventy-five cents,” said Mike to Hatton, looking 
uglier than ever. 

“For what?” 

“For the drinks, of course; d’ye think this is a 
free house?” 

“ I don’t know anything about your house, my 
friend, except that it is a very poor one; but when- 
ever I order anything here, which is extremely un- 
likely, I shall be ready to pay for it, and not before.” 

“D’ye mean to say ye ain’t agoin’ to pay fur them 
drinks?” asked Mike, in tones which made Alfred 
tremble. 

“That is exactly what I mean.” 

The answer actually pleased the barkeeper, for it 
gave him the opportunity for which he had been 
thirsting. Grabbing a heavy wooden mallet in one 
hand, he put the other on the counter before him, 
and vaulted over it. Hatton anticipated him, and, 
before he had time to use the mallet, he received a 
blow under the ear from the muscular disciple of 
Blackstone which laid him out upon the floor like a 
log. 

Twolit rushed out of the house. Hatton coolly ad- 
justed his glass, critically examined the prone bar- 
keeper in a wholly disinterested fashion, as if that 
worthy had fallen through the ceiling, and then 
deliberately walked out through the door. On the 
pavement was Alfred, shaking with terror. 


ALFRED IS APPRECIATED. 


227 


“Have you killed him?” lie gasped. 

Hatton laughed quietly, as he replied: 

“I fancy he has received too many such knocks for 
this one to give him any serious trouble.” 

This was a light way to speak about a man whom 
they had left lying insensible, but Alfred was too 
much shaken up to notice it. When they reached 
one of the principal thoroughfares of the city, Hatton 
turned abruptly to Alfred and asked: 

“What were you doing there?” 

“I am an author,” replied Alfred, without in the 
least resenting the impertinence of the question; “I 
am writing a splendid novel. Norton will be one of 
my principal characters; he has given me a history 
of his life, and it is very interesting.” 

The glass went into the eye again very quickly. 

“I would like to read it,” said Hatton. 

“Would you, indeed?” cried Alfred. “Then you 
shall read it, or, rather, I will read it for you this 
night, if you will come to my lodgings? It is not 
far from here.” 

“I will be delighted. Show me the way.” 

The announcement filled Alfred with pleasure, and 
he started off enthusiastically in the direction of Mrs. 
Dare’s. He was so eager that Hatton could hardly 
keep up with him. Here was the first man who had 
ever manifested a desire to read the writings of 
Alfred Twolit. A couple of hours yet remained 
before midnight, and it was eminently desirable that 
the wish should be gratified without delay, or, per- 
haps, he might repent of it. Alfred was like the un- 


228 


ALFRED IS APPRECIATED. 


successful artist, upon whose paintings nobody will 
look, but who feels perfectly confident that, if once 
they are studied, his fame is made. Once listen to 
something he had written, were it only a fragment, 
and Alfred felt sure that Hatton would recognize its 
glittering merits, and if even but one man discovered 
the fire of his genius, and all the rest of mankind 
were left in darkness, wliat might not happen? The 
greatest discoveries had been proclaimed to the world 
by one man, and by one man alone. 


DARCY MAKES A CONFIDANTE. 


229 


CHAPTER XXI. 

DARCY MAKES A CONFIDANTE. 

S INCE her return from the “Mansion,” Aunt Ta- 
bitha had chosen to indulge her peculiar whim 
of living secluded in her big house, accessible only at 
stated periods to her favorite friends, and her time de- 
voted almost exclusively to the various objects of her 
charity, and the utilitarian contributions of her pen. 
This particular “retirement to the cloister” — an ex- 
pression passing current among her acquaintances to 
designate the form of her eccentricity — had been per- 
severed in for an unusually long time, and an im- 
pression had gotten about that the retirement, contrary 
to all precedent, promised now to be a premanent 
one. It was only dispelled when the invitations for 
the ball in honor of Grace Harper were received. 

It was an afternoon in the latter part of January. 
The weather was cold, but the sun was shining brightly, 
and its light, streaming through the stained glass of 
her library bow- window, threw a mellow tint of warm 
color upon the aged and benevolent face of Aunt Ta- 
bitha. She was sitting at a small ebony table, writing; 
beside her lay a scattered heap of proof sheets, and a 
pamphlet, its leaves still uncut, containing her last 
“Address” as President of the Anti -Vivisection Society. 
Near her, George Darcy was slowly rocking him- 


230 


DARCY MAKES A CONFIDANTE. 


self in a wicker chair. He held a newspaper before 
him, but it was impossible to tell whether he was 
reading it or not. 

“Charter / 7 said Aunt Tabitha, putting down her pen 
“you are coming to Grace’s ball? 7 ’ 

“If you wish it / 7 he answered, obediently, letting 
the paper drop on the floor. 

“I do wish it . 77 

“Then I will come.” 

She did not resume her writing, but sat regarding 
him wistfully. He must have guessed her thoughts, 
for he did not even raise his eyes when she said: 

“Have you seen Yiolet recently?” 

“Hot for a long time.” 

The sad, despairing tone of his voice was as full a 
confession of his love as if he had made an avowal. 
It was the fond wish of Aunt Tabitha’s heart, and 
her face lighted up with pleasure. It was not unan- 
ticipated, for she had been an attentive observer of 
both Darcy and Yiolet from the time they had first 
met each other, and like all women, whether old or 
young, possessed that instinct, peculiar to the sex, of 
noting and determining the significance of every sign 
or action which is supposed to betray the tender pas- 
sion. But his manner made her uneasy. Was his 
only that delightful species of melancholy in which 
people in love are wont to indulge, or was it, could it 
be that she had refused him? 

“You will forgive your old Aunt’s curiosity, Charter, 
but I want to know — no matter why — how long it 
has been since you called upon her?” 


DARCY MAKES A CONFIDANTE. 


231 


“What a shrewd and designing Aunt Tab. it is!” 
he answered, giving her a look of affection; “no one 
could possibly discover any motive in her catechising.” 

“ Don’t sit there laughing at me, sir, but answer my 
question.” 

“Did I ever refuse to do so, Aunt? I have not 
called at all.” 

“What!” she exclaimed, in consternation; “after her 
invitation, too!” 

“You are mistaken, Aunt ; she did not invite me to 
call; on the contrary, she asked me not to do so.” 

So great was Aunt Tabitha’s astonishment that it 
was some moments before she could speak. After all 
her planning and castle-building, to have the whole 
edifice come crashing around her ears, just when the 
beautiful towers were being topped out, was more 
than she could bear, and her devoted nephew, that 
day, came nearer provoking her anger and indignation 
than ever before. 

“Please tell me what you mean?” she at last man- 
aged to ask. 

“It is for that I have come here to-day,” he an- 
swered, his eyes again seeking the floor. “I beg of 
you to have patience with me until I have fin- 
ished.” 

“Go on, go on; you need not fear — I’ll be patient 
enough,” interrupted Aunt Tabitha, in a high state of 
nervous excitement, which belied her words. 

“I love Yiolet and asked her to be my wife,” he 
said, bluntly. “She would not consent, but — ” 

“Would not consent!” cried Aunt Tabitha, suddenly 


232 


DARCY MAKES A CONFIDANTE. 


possessed with, the conviction that she must be losing 
her mind. The idea that any woman, who was for- 
tunate enough to be asked, should decline an offer of 
marriage from her nephew was something she would 
not and could not for one instant believe. 

“Is it really true that — ” she was beginning, when 
Darcy raised his hand in remonstrance. 

“Remember your promise, Aunt; hear me to the 
end. I have a revelation to make, a secret which is 
in the keeping of but one or two, but I feel that I 
violate no confidence when I tell it to you. I had 
doubts at first whether it was right for me to do so, 
but I have them no longer. I think it better for all 
concerned that you should know it.” 

Patiently, carefully and deliberately, he told of the 
discovery which he and Yiolet had made. He did 
not describe how it occurred, his own part in it, nor 
did he speak of Mrs. Sanders by name. In his opin- 
ion there was no necessity for that. She was part of 
the very existence of his Aunt, and, whatever might 
happen, there was no danger that she would claim 
her daughter or divulge .the secret. 

When he had concluded, Aunt Tabitha knew the 
story, but not the source from which or the means 
whereby he had derived his information. She supposed 
he had heard it from Violet’s lips when he had urged 
his suit. She was silent a long time. At length she 
said, looking steadily at him: 

“Why have you told me- this?” 

“Cannot you guess, Aunt? I want your help. 
You must plead my cause again with Violet, for I 


DARCY MAKES A CONFIDANTE. 


233 


know she loves and confides in you. She must tell 
you this secret, the only thing under Heaven which 
separates us, and you will try to show her — you must 
show her — Oh! Aunt!” he broke off, impatiently, “is 
it possible you do not see what I mean? Why 
should the lives of two innocent people be made 
miserable for one guilty man?” 

She did not answer, though she understood him 
well. Hope was coming back to her. It was a de- 
lusion after all — the castle had not fallen! 

She did not answer, but walked over to where he 
was sitting, and, bending over him, kissed him on the 
brow, and spoke to him low and tender as his mother 
had once done. 

“Charter, my boy, your old Aunt understands you; 
she is not so stupid as you would have yourself 
believe. You shall have her help and — Violet.” 

He seized her hand and pressed it fondly to his 
lips. 

“When will you do it? When will you see her? ” 
he asked, with passionate eagerness. 

“Who is impatient now?” she said. “You are not 
more anxious than I for an interview. I will write 
to her to come. She has not been here since my 
return.” 

Darcy started. Fool that he was, he said to him- 
self, why had he not thought of it before! Of course, 
she had stayed away, for was not Mrs. Sanders there 
to meet her! And now, knowing as she did the rela- 
tions existing between Mrs. Sanders and his Aunt, 
would she disclose the secret under any pressure? 


284 


DARCY MAKES A CONFIDANTE. 


He almost wished he had said nothing about it, but 
it was too late to recall his words. 

“Aunt, promise that you will not betray me. She 
must tell you herself.” 

“I promise,” she said, confidently. She was a 
woman, and what woman ever failed, when she set 
about it, to extract a secret from another! 

“Thank you, best of Aunts! I leave everything in 
your hands! I thought it would be hard to make 
my confession, but I should have remembered that 
you were my confessor!” 

“You foolish boy! You thought me stupid, but I 
knew it all the time!” 

“Then I’ll never think you stupid again,” he re- 
plied, as he kissed her and took his leave. 

He was sorely troubled in mind, as he walked 
along the street. Thinking over what he had done, it 
seemed to him that failure was more probable than 
success. Suppose, too, Yiolet should learn what he 
had done, in that case would she ever forgive him? 

His moody reflections had slackened his gait. He 
moved on, his head cast down, and he himself not 
knowing or caring where he was going. Occasionally 
he came in collision with some passer-by, who stop- 
ped to look wonderingly after him. 

A loud tapping on a window-pane caused him to 
look up. His face must have attained a very length- 
ened and melancholy expression, for he had no sooner 
done so than Charley Chanwood at the club window 
burst into a hearty fit of laughter. He shook off his 
sombre air, and walked into the building. 


DARCY MAKES A CONFIDANTE. 


235 


Mr. Chanwood was seated, along with some other 
habitues , at that most desirable of all localities in 
every clnb-room, the window. During an economical 
fit, looking to his own prospective marriage, he had 
resigned his membership in the club, yet he still 
found time at intervals — and they were not astonish- 
ingly far apart — to drop in and “see the boys/’ 
Nowhere was he more welcome or popular, and at 
every visit the most beseeching appeals were made to 
him “to think better of it and come in again.” It 
was only the thought of Grace that prevented him 
from yielding to the temptations. His business at 
Harris Street was moderately fair, and his income 
ample for his own support, but he had to acknow- 
ledge to himself that, if he really did intend to marry 
and settle down, it was high time that he made an 
effort to save a little money, and saving money was 
something of which he had never been guilty. It 
was at the club he had first gotten to know Darcy, 
and he had always envied him his pecuniary ability 
not only to indulge in clubs, but seemingly anything 
he chose. 

As Darcy entered, Charley hailed him. 

“Didn’t you forget your lamp, George?” 

“What lamp?” said Darcy, just a little sheepishly. 

“Why, I thought it was Diogenes himself when I 
looked out and saw you mousing along, but, after a 
moment’s reflection, I knew I had mistaken my man; 
you had no lamp!” 

“I was not looking for you, Charley, at all events. 
When you remember who the old philosopher icas 


236 


DARCY MAKES A CONFIDANTE. 


looking for, you will appreciate the implied compli- 
ment.” 

“Dodge was a fool, anyhow ! ”~ remarked Charley, 
blithely, as Darcy seated himself and lighted a cigar. 
“It wouldn’t surprise me if historians found out some 
day — you know they always are finding out some- 
thing — that the old chap was a thief himself, proba- 
bly a festive burglar with his accustomed dark lantern. 
Do you know Mr. Hatton, George? Mr. Hatton, my 
friend Professor Darcy.” 

The two gentlemen arose, shook hands, and re- 
sumed their seats. The glass was already in Hatton’s 
eye, but the look he gave Darcy was not a stare, for 
he found himself regarded narrowly. 

“Professor Darcy is one of the oldest members of 
the club,” continued Charley, in high spirits as usual. 

“Ah?” said Hatton, interrogatively, mildly interested. 
“.I consider myself fortunate in making your ac- 
quaintance, Professor, as I am one of the latest acqui- 
sitions.” 

“I do not believe the length of time I have been 
in the club gives me any material advantage over the 
other members,” said Darcy, modestly. “I must 
claim the privilege, at the beginning of our acquaint- 
ance, of telling you that I am not known out of 
Stedman University as 4 Professor,’ nor do I care to 
be. Mr. Chanwood here is aware of this and takes 
great pleasure in invariably introducing me as 1 Pro- 
fessor.’ It affords him great amusement.” 

“Infinite amusement,” assented Charley; “you get 
so riled about it.” 


DAKCY MAKES A CONFIDANTE. 


237 


“I think,” Darcy went on, quietly, “that, after this, 
I will make it a point to introduce him as ‘Broker ’ 
Chanwood!” 

“That would be quite unnecessary,” said Charley, 
“for I always have my card handy. It’s the best 
way, and saves a heap of trouble. You just give a 
man your card, and sit down and enjoy yourself 
whilst he finds out who you are. There it is — your 
name, business address, rate of commission, and every- 
thing. Now, if you were to start out and try to tell 
him what the card shows for itself, it would probably 
take half an hour and tire him to death.” 

A gentleman approached and called Hatton aside. 

“Excuse me for a little while,” the latter said, as 
he got up; “this is my initiative night, and I suppose 
I have to comply with some formalities.” 

When he was gone, Darcy looked inquiringly at 
Charley. 

“Want to know who he is, do you?” said Mr. 
Chanwood. “I am sorry I cannot enlighten you 
much on that score. I met him some weeks ago. 
He seems to be a very clever fellow. He wanted to 
join a good club, and I had his name proposed.” 

“I never heard of him.” 

“Nothing remarkable about that, George. Your 
line, I know, is knowledge, but you must admit there 
are some people in this world of whose existence you 
are shamefully ignorant.” 

“I certainly should have heard of him, if he were 
known at all.” 

“But he isn’t — only been in the city a short time.” 


238 


DARCY MAKES A CONFIDANTE. 


“Oh! that is different; I inferred from your talk 
that he was a resident.” 

“It’s a bad habit, George, this thing of making 
inferences when there is no provocation for it.” 

“Where is he from, and what does he do?” 

“I declare you are as curious about him as you 
were about the Stannels last summer! Do you re- 
member the Stannels, George?” 

“Certainly,” impatiently; “we are not speaking of 
them.” 

“I beg your pardon, but I was. Mr. Hatton is 
from the West somewhere. He is a lawyer by pro- 
fession. That does not prevent him from being a 
good fellow.” 

“You appear to think a good deal of him.” 

“I find him congenial, but not very communicative, 
for I don’t know much more about him than your- 
self. I have succeeded in getting him an invitation 
from your Aunt to Grace’s ball — as a friend of mine, 
you understand. You’ll be there, I suppose?” 

“I am not sure,” said^ Darcy, abstractedly. 

“Miss Violet Frone will, anyhow,” said Charley, 
with the most daring irrelevancy, affecting to have 
his attention called to the street. 

“How do you know?” asked Darcy, pointedly; 
“has she told you so?” 

“Told me! Bless you! no!” cried Charley, jumping 
around in his chair and meeting the inquiring eyes 
of Darcy without wavering. “I haven’t seen her for 
— well, I almost forget what she looks like ! Grace has 
seen her, though, frequently, and that’s what she says.” 


DARCY MAKES A CONFIDANTE. 


239 


He had suspected from the first if he did not 
know of Darcy’s attachment, but he had never suc- 
ceeded in getting him to acknowledge it. Always 
willing and even eager as Charley was to press his 
confidences upon others, particularly in matters pertain- 
ing to the heart, he was never the recipient of any. 
Time and again had he consulted and begged for ad- 
vice from Darcy, as well as from others, when Grace 
had chosen to exercise her womanly privilege of 
coquetry or seeming indifference to himself and his 
attentions. On the other hand, his advice was never 
sought in such cases. 

Therefore it was that, although George Darcy had 
not only determined upon going to the ball, but was 
fondly looking forward to it at that moment, he said 
nothing of his intention to Charley Chanwood. 


240 THE lawyer’s clerk overhears something. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE LAWYER’S CLERK OVERHEARS SOMETHING. 

S yet no steps had been taken by Mr. Kift and 



l\ Mr. Hatton to establish the identity of Yiolet. 
They were both impatient of the delay, especially the 
former, but it seemed unavoidable. In the first place, 

>mmunications and stipulations had to be entered 
into with Quearle in London. He was a very punc- 
tual correspondent and a very exacting one. The cor- 
respondence was conducted entirely by Hatton. In 
answer to a letter, stating that there was no difficulty 
in producing in person the brother of Archibald 
Sanders, but that it might not be practicable, under 
the peculiar circumstances of the case — fully set forth 
in the epistle — to prove that the brother had a 
child living, Quearle wrote that both were essential 
facts, as only upon their existence could the devise 
and bequest to the brother be operative, and that, upon 
the failure of either, English charitable organizations 
would take the whole estate under the terms of the 
will. 

Mr. Quearle wrote, in addition, that, from the na- 
ture of the extraordinary story, its truth would neces- 
sarily be denied by the interested parties, and that a 
recourse to a court of law was clearly the only proper 
method of having the matter conclusively determined. 


THE LAWYER’S CLERK OVERHEARS SOMETHING. 241 

About this time Hatton announced that it had 
become imperative for him to go West, for a short 
period, to settle np some unfinished law business. 
His absence lasted for a month, and, when he re- 
turned, Mr. Kift showed him another letter from Quearle, 
wherein he threatened to come over to America and 
see about matters himself. Hatton very speedily sent 
him a letter, advising him to stay where he was and 
assuring him that there was no lack of activity upon 
the part of himself. This missive was shown to Mr. 
Kift and was by him approved. 

At length the time arrived when, in the judgmen 
and language of Mr. Kift, it became necessary “to 
proceed.” Nothing could possibly be accomplished by 
any further postponement. Norton, too, was becoming 
more and more intractable and expensive. Expecting 
to have had possession long since of his promised for- 
tune, it was no easy matter to make him understand 
that his case had not been neglected. 

After a consultation, it was decided that Hatton 
should communicate with Mr. Frone, laying bare the 
facts and intimating the proposed course to be pur- 
sued, if they were denied. Undoubtedly Mr. Frone’s 
first act would be to wait upon his lawyer, Mr. Kift, 
who, it was arranged, would advise him to admit the 
truth, and it was believed that he could be further 
induced to supply the requisite proof by the ten- 
der of his own deposition, in order that the . matter 
might be kept as secret as possible, if it was stipu- 
lated that Violet should not be taken away from him. 
Quearle could then be brought over, and, all the 
16 


242 the lawyer’s clerk overhears something. 


links of evidence being collected, the case proven to 
that gentleman’s satisfaction. If Mr. Frone refused the 
terms, Hatton was to sue out a writ of Habeas Corpus. 

Accordingly the plan was carried out. Mr. Hat- 
ton’s letter was sent and the two lawyers waited for 
a reply. It came promptly on the succeeding morn- 
ing. Mr. Kift received a few lines, enclosing Hatton’s 
letter. Mr. Frone would be at the office that day. 
Hatton also got a note referring him to Mr. Kift. 
He repaired at once to the office of Kift & Kenly. 

“Well?” said Mr. Kift, interrogatively, as he entered 
the office; “have you heard from him?” 

Hatton coolly threw down the note. 

“Have you seen him?” he asked. 

“I have not,” replied Mr. Kift; “I expect him 
here to-day. He has sent me your letter, and ” 

“Do you object to my smoking?” interrupted Hat- 
ton, calmly, at the same time lighting his cigar, 
regardless of what the answer might be. Mr. Kift 
did not make any objection to the smoking, although 
it was seldom any one presumed so much upon his 
condescension. He was considerably surprised and 
rather displeased that Hatton should manifest such a 
tame interest* in his own case. He refused to say 
anything further. Hatton waited a moment, slowly 
puffing his cigar. Then he seated himself, picked up 
a newspaper and began glancing over the columns 
for something to read. His conduct was too aggra- 
vating for Mr. Kift. 

“You do not wish to hear any more?” he asked 
with a poor show of controlling his impatience. 


THE LAWYER’S CLERK OVERHEARS SOMETHING. 243 


“ About what?” said Hatton, putting down his news- 
paper. 

“You know very well.” 

“The Frone affair, you mean? What else is there 
to hear? I thought you had told everything. Frone 
writes you, encloses my letter and says he is coming 
to see you; isn’t that all there is of it?” 

“Mr. Hatton, I am at a loss to understand you this 
morning. Do you want to withdraw from the case?” 

Hatton looked up with an expression of puzzled 
astonishment. 

“I am very unfortunate,” he said, “if I have given 
you any such impression, merely because I do not see 
the necessity of continually going over the same 
ground in this matter, but” — here his listless indiffer- 
ence suddenly disappeared, as he brought the palm of 
his hand down upon the desk with a crash, and went 
on, in a loud voice — “so far from wanting to with- 
draw, I propose to push the case to a successful 
termination, and when you imagine that my interest 
in it is on the wane, or that I do not appreciate what 
you have done and are doing to facilitate the result, 
you do me a great injustice!” 

The quick change in his manner furnished Mr. Kift 
with another surprise, but, unlike the other, it was 
agreeable in its nature. Reaching forward, he grasped 
Hatton’s hand with positive warmth. 

“I owe and tender you an apology, Mr. Hatton, for 
my hasty and unwarrantable suspicion.” 

“It is quite unnecessary,” responded Hatton, relap- 
sing into his customary coolness; “I admit my manner 


244 THE lawyer’s clerk overhears something-. 


was calculated to arouse it. When I am most inter- 
ested, I show it the least. To come back to the 
subject: you will see Frone to-day?” 

“ Without a doubt.” 

“Do you think you will succeed in convincing him 
of the folly of denying that this girl is not his 
daughter ? ; ’ 

“It is questionable, but I shall try,” said Mr. Kift, 
meditatively; “he is foolishly fond of her, and yet if 
the real father were any other man — ” 

“But that’s just it!” Hatton broke in; “that is 
the strongest argument why he should admit the truth 
and spare himself and her the publicity and shame 
which will be inevitable if we have to go into Court.” 

“ My idea from the beginning,” said Mr. Kift ; 
“besides, we don’t take her away from him.” 

“Have you ever seen her?” Hatton asked. 

“Quite frequently.” 

“I understand she is very beautiful.” 

“I believe so, but I’m sure I don’t know. All 
women are alike to me.” 

“I’ll have to judge for myself,” said Hatton; “I 
shall see her to-night.” 

“Where!” exclaimed Mr. Kift, in amazement. 

“At a private ball; I am told she will be there.” 

“Who told you?” inquired Mr. Kift, suspiciously. 

“Mr. Chanwood, a young broker. Acquainted with 
him?” 

“No.” 

“Right clever fellow,” remarked Hatton, as he re- 
lighted his cigar and picked up the newspaper again. 


THE LAWYER’S CLERK OVERHEARS SOMETHING. 245 


There are few people who have not, at some time 
or other, played the part of involuntary eavesdropper, 
and Frank Harper found himself listening to the con- 
versation of the two lawyers in the inner office. Hat- 
ton had passed him as he came in, but paid little 
attention to him, except to note that he appeared par- 
ticularly idle. And he was idle, deliciously idle. He 
had actually nothing to do. It was a novel sensation 
to him, and, the better to appreciate it, he was loung- 
ing back in his chair. His two hands were clasped 
behind his head and formed a cushion against the lid 
of his desk. Above him was the cobwebbed ceiling 
of the office, but he saw it not. His imagination had 
taken him out of the room and into the fresh green 
country. It was a whim, but it seemed to him as if he 
were reclining on the grass, under the shady boughs 
of some old orchard, and, looking up through the still 
leaves, saw the blue heavens beyond. The sun was 
at its zenith, and again the white, fleecy clouds — a 
favorite fancy with him — were slowly passing along, 
just as they had done on that bright morning when 
he watched them from the deck of the steamboat. 
How much had happened since then! His great dis- 
covery was on the eve of being disclosed to the scien- 
tific world; he would achieve greatness — perhaps 
wealth! Was there any doubt of it? Had not Pro- 
fessor Darcy said so? Professor Darcy! He was the 
man who had come between him and the only woman 
he ever loved! That, too, had happened since last 
he watched the clouds roll by. He had not known 
what love was then; now, he felt the bitter pangs of 


246 the lawyer’s clerk overhears something. 

a hopeless passion. Yet, after all, it was he that loved 
her! Who more deserving? Would he grudge hap- 
piness to his best friend? Perhaps, all would come 
right. W ere not the beautiful white clouds continually 
changing ? 

Hatton’s voice, loud and emphatic, aroused him. The 
door between the two offices was ajar. He had heard 
the smothered conversation, but not the words. The 
crash of Hatton’s hand upon the desk and his indignant 
remonstrance had startled him. The name “Frone” 
caught his ear. Try as he would, he could not but 
listen to the next few sentences, and then, for the 
first time in his life, he felt a burning desire to hear 
what he knew was not intended for him. His suspi- 
cions were awakened. Something told him it was not 
wrong to listen. Stealthily he walked to the door, 
and heard the words so fraught with meaning. 

Like an avalanche, the truth flashed upon him. In 
an instant, his employer’s conduct to Norton and the 
relation of Hatton became intelligible. Not slowly 
the conviction forced itself upon his mind that the 
details of a conspiracy were at that moment being 
hatched to destroy the happiness of the woman he 
loved ! 

Hardly knowing what he was doing, he rushed out 
of the office and into the street. Mr. Kift ’s confiden- 
tial clerk he was, it is true, but he would not, by his * 
silence, be a party to such an infamous scheme, one 
which Kift would never dare breathe to any one ex- 
cept a villain like himself. 

His first and only impulse was to go at once to 


THE LAWYER’S CLERK OVERHEARS SOMETHING. 247 

Mr. Frone, cost what it would, and divulge what he 
had heard. Scarcely had the idea occurred to him 
when Mr. Frone’ s coupe drove up to the very spot 
where he was standing. The driver dismounted and 
opened the door. Mr. Frone was in the act of step- 
ping to the pavement, when he caught sight of Frank, 
motionless and bareheaded. 

“Why, what is the matter?” he asked. 

“Don’t go in there!” whispered Frank, hoarsely, 
putting one foot in the coupe and placing his hands 
on Mr. Frone’s arms. He forgot the icy reception 
this man had given him previously in his own house. 
He was thinking only of Violet. 

“Get into the carriage,” said Mr. Frone, bewildered. 

Frank obeyed, and the driver was instructed to go 
to a place about two blocks distant and then return. 

“Now, tell me what you have to say.” 

Mr. Frone listened attentively as Frank related what 
he had heard, but not a muscle of his face twitched. 
Even when Frank finished by declaring his suspicions, 
he did not exhibit the slightest evidence of surprise 
or astonishment. 

“ My poor boy,” he said, when Frank had concluded, 

“ I do not doubt that you have acted from the proper 
motives in this matter, even though your judgment 
has misled you, and I appreciate and am grateful 
for it.” ' * 

Frank stared at him in incredulous amazement. 

“It was natural that you should come to this con- 
clusion,” continued Mr. Frone; “you are, nevertheless, 
entirely mistaken in your suspicions. I am aware of 


248 THE lawyer’s CLERK OVERHEARS SOMETHING. 

what Mr. Kift is doing, and am sure lie has my 
interests at heart. I shall not tell him what you 
have said.” 

“Am I mistaken,” cried Frank, excitedly, abso- 
lutely stunned by this unexpected reception of his 
story, “when I say I heard them declare that Miss 
Violet is not your daughter, but the daughter of a 
sot? Is that true ? 11 

He did not choose his language in his indignation. 
This man, he thought, was unworthy to be a father. 
He waited for an angry denial, but it came not. 
Mr. Frone grew a shade paler, compressed his lips 
firmly, and then said, in a low, stern voice: 

“I shall not answer you. You have no right to 
ask me. Never dare to speak of this matter again!” 

The coupe had returned to the place where Frank 
had got into it. Mr. Frone alighted and walked 
slowly up the steps and into the offices of Kift & 
Kenly. Hatton had already taken his departure. 


geace’s ball. 


249 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


grace’s ball. 



RACE’S ball was well under way. It promised 


vx to be the “event of the season/’ and its ad- 
mitted success was in every one’s mouth. The decora- 
tions and flowers were, certainly, most costly and 
rare, the music excellent, the dresses handsome, the 
jewels brilliant and glittering. As to the people, one 
of the morning newspapers contained the highly 
original line — more truthful in this case than gener- 
ally — that “the beauty and fashion of the city were 
there assembled.” 

Comparatively few of the persons attending knew 
or cared to know who Grace might be, but an invita- 
tion from Tabitha Charter was of no ordinary import- 
ance, and was always accepted by the lucky recipients, 
whenever such a thing was possible. There were 
other reasons urging many on this occasion. When 
it became known that the Marrelles proposed to 
attend, of course, it would never do for the Eitters to 
absent themselves, and as the Eitters enjoyed the 
enviable reputation of only being met in company 
which was unusually select, as a natural consequence 
invitations were eagerly sought for, and the most 
ingenious artifices employed to obtain them. Another 
attraction was a rumor of the anticipated presence of 


250 


grace’s ball. 


Lord Oxley, an Englishman then sojourning in the 
country. The two Misses S my the had heard it from 
young George Stewart, who had been told it by Will 
Haller, who, in turn had been fox-hunting with his 
Lordship. What was more natural than that the 
Misses Smythe should impart the information to all 
their friends, among them Miss Emma Stannel, and 
what could poor Aunt Tab. do but invite her, after 
Mrs. Martha Stannel had called upon her three times 
unsuccessfully, and finally waylaid her in a millinery 
shop ? 

To the generality of girls a ball is “a thing of 
beauty and a joy forever,” and Grace was not an ex- 
ception to the rule. She looked thoroughly delighted 
as she stood beside Aunt Tabitha, and assisted in re- 
ceiving the arrivals. Captivating, she undoubtedly 
was, with her flaxen hair, her bright eyes, and her 
graceful petite figure, so well set off by the tight-fit- 
ting white satin dress. To say that she was unaware 
of it would be to do her a gross injustice. 

At the outset, Mr. Chanwood, who was among the 
first of the arrivals, was plainly told that he must 
not make himself too attentive, and, notwithstanding 
his piteous appeals, he was only promised one paltry 
waltz with her. Upon attempting to urge his right 
for more considerate treatment, he was informed that 
on such occasions he had no rights which others were 
bound to respect; that it was her first and only ball, 
and that she proposed to enjoy it like any other girl, 
even if she died for it. She endeavored to show him 
the propriety of his “enjoying himself with the others,” 


grace’s ball. 


251 


and, although he made an attempt to obey her wishes, 
it was not remarkably successful. The gentlemen 
crowded around the beautiful little blonde, and as 
Charley watched them from different angles of the 
room, he felt a mad desire to set the house in flames, 
or do something equally desperate, calculated to bring 
the ball to a summary conclusion. 

He was promenading with Emma Stannel, and try- 
ing to appear entertained by her voluble Smalltalk. 

“Who is that tall, distinguished-looking gentleman, 
Mr. Chan wood? ” she asked, suddenly, as she caught 
sight of a broad-shouldered man, who towered above 
the little group of which Grace was the centre. 

“What tall gentleman?” said Charley, absently, 
looking around the room aimlessly. 

“Where are your eyes?” replied Emma, pettishly, 
as he followed her glance; “he was the first person I 
noticed this evening. Is it Lord Oxley? I’d love to 
meet him!” 

“I don’t know, but I’ll find out,” said Charley, sud- 
denly interested in the identity of the gentleman. 
“There’s George — he’ll tell me. You must be 
tired; take a seat here and I’ll be back in a 
moment.” 

Leaving Emma on an ottoman, he moved away, 
inwardly hoping that some one as courageous as him- 
self would swoop down upon her and relieve him. 

Dressed in her favorite color, crimson, she looked 
quite handsome, and was evidently very much satis- 
fied with herself. It was not long before a slim 
young man, whose head appeared to converge to the 


252 


grace’s ball. 


end of liis nose, ventured to cross tlie floor and seat 
himself by her side. Before he had done so, she had 
espied her mother at the opposite end of the room, 
talking in the most affable manner with Aunt Ta- 
bltlia. They might have been operators at either end 
of a telegraph line, so quickly did the discovery 
become mutual. The mother gave an almost unno- 
ticeable motion with her fan, and nodded her head. 
Miss Stannel was already conversing with the slim 
youth, but the nod was answered very intelligently. 
The motion of the fan had been in the direction of 
the scion of nobility. 

Charley had caught a glimpse of Darcy in the 
hallway, whilst escorting the flaming Emma, and had 
left her to go to him. He met Hatton, leaning 
against a door frame and surveying the people criti- 
cally through his single glass. 

“You are not playing the wall-flower?” 

“Far from it, Chanwood; I have been making 
myself very agreeable. By the way, where is that 
Miss Frone, about whom you were raving?” 

“I’m told she is here, but I haven’t seen her.” 

“Introduce me, will you, when you do?” 

“With pleasure.” 

“Who is that girl you have just deserted?” was 
the next inquiry. 

“Miss Stannel,” replied Charley, casting a look of 
gratitude upon the young man who was now enter- 
taining her; “but” — suddenly — “ you don’t want to 
meet her.” 

“Don’t I? Then I’ll keep out of her way,” said 


grace's ball. 


258 


Hatton, feeling that an inestimable service had been 
rendered him, yet utterly at a loss to know what it 
was. 

“There are a great many beautiful women here to- 
night,” he remarked presently. “Miss Harper is 
very pretty and pleasant. Is she a relative of Mrs. 
Charter?” 

“No relation in the world,” said x Charley, hastily, 
and then changing the subject as speedily as possible: 
“Quite a number of good-looking fellows here also — 
don’t you think so? That reminds me — you’ve noticed 
that seven-footer with the yellow beard? — let me see 
where he is now.” 

“You’re here, too?” said a voice at his elbow; 
“glad to see you.” 

Charley turned to find the seven-footer shaking 
hands with Hatton in the most friendly manner. As 
he passed on, the latter said, laughingly: 

“I’m afraid his Lordship heard you.” 

“Is that the aristocratic Oxley?” asked Charley. 

“ The same.” 

“Where did you get to know him?” questioned 
Charley, rudely. 

“In the West, last year, when he was doing it. 
Went shooting with him a couple of times. Capital 
fellow.” 

“Is he, indeed!” said Charley, in a tone which be- 
trayed some incredulity. His eyes followed Oxley as 
he walked along with an air of easy and becoming 
negligence, and then something seemed to amuse him 
very much and he laughed softly to himself. 


254 


grace’s ball. 


Lord Oxley was being presented to Mrs. Stannel by 
Aunt Tabitba. Hardly a moment later, Emma rushed 
breathlessly up to her mother, followed by the slim 
youth. 

“Oh! mamma!” she cried, “I have broken my fan. 
Will you lend me yours?” 

“My daughter — Lord Oxley,” said Mrs. Stannel, 
paying no attention to the request for the fan. 

It was quite evident that Emma had failed to notice 
that any one was talking with her mother. She looked 
as if suddenly and greatly surprised, with just a spice 
of sweet confusion. Oxley bowed very gallantly, drop- 
ped a few conventional phrases, and then offered the 
young lady his arm. 

Violet remained in the cloak-room until every one 
had left it, and then went down-stairs to the ball- 
room. She had no inclination to mix in the gay 
throng, but, if she stayed away from it, there was the 
possibility of meeting Mrs. Sanders at any moment, 
and it was that she dreaded. It was incumbent upon 
her, also, to give her presence to the ball, if only for 
a short time. Going down the stairs, she saw Darcy 
waiting for her at the bottom. She did not hesitate, 
and, when she reached the foot, smiled sweetly, as 
she looked candidly up into his face and held out 
her hand. The pressure he gave it made her heart 
beat wildly. Then she withdrew it gently and entered 
the ball-room. 

Though she did so as quietly as possible, she was 
no sooner within it than Hatton detected her. A half- 
subdued exclamation of admiration escaped* from his 


grace’s ball. 


255 


lips, and immediately Charley Chanwood was hunted 
up and made to fulfil his promise. 

On the other side of the room, verily a wall-flower, 
stood Frank Harper, watching him. He did not dance, 
because dancing was not one of his accomplishments. 
Yet that did not cause him any regret. He did not 
converse with any one, because he had no inclination 
to do so, nor was he sufficiently attractive for others 
to make up to him. He remained in the background, 
unobserved and contented. - Balls were his bete noir , 
and he only granted Grace’s request to attend this 
one when he learned that Violet was to be present. 
Almost hidden from sight behind a row of som- 
bre-looking men, he had stood patiently waiting for 
a glimpse of her. As the time flew by, and she 
did not appear, a weary sense of disappointment op- 
pressed him, and he was counting the minutes before 
the ball would be over. Suddenly he saw her, with 
Hatton by. her side. He had not known that Hatton 
was among the company. 

At first he could scarcely believe what he saw. 
Before him, in the flesh, was the man, bowing and 
smiling to the girl against whose happiness he was 
plotting! And Violet — how beautiful and unsuspecting 
she looked! 

There came to him then his interview with her 
father. He seemed to have known everything. What 
could it all mean? Had Mr. Frone ever seen Hatton? 
One thing was certain — this man would never have 
dared to approach her had her father been there. 

A commotion amongst those around him brought 


256 


grace’s ball. 


him to himself. The orchestra was playing a march, 
and the people were going to supper. He saw his 
sister led out by Darcy, and Violet take the arm of 
Hatton, whilst Emma Stannel sailed away triumph- 
antly with the admitted prize of the evening, Oxley. 
Charley Chanwood had insisted upon escorting Aunt 
Tabitha. Frank became aware that he owed a like 
attention to somebody. Very little attention had 
been paid to him, but he could not hope to escape 
remark if he openly defied the proprieties. 

A stubborn whim seized him — he would not go to 
the supper at all. He knew that Grace would highly 
disapprove of his behavior, if she found it out, but he 
would brave her displeasure. 

The line of promenaders was nearing its end; an- 
other moment, and he would be alone. Casting one 
quick glance about him, he crossed the floor, and, 
unperceived, went up the stairs and into the gentle- 
men’s room. Ho one was there, and the gas was 
burning faintly. Sitting down among the coats and 
hats piled up around him, he rested his arms on his 
knees. The sound of talk and laughter from the 
supper-room below came to him, and he listened in 
vain to h.ear her voice ! She was happy, but how long 
would that happiness last? In a day or two, per- 
haps, this terrible story of which he had had an ink- 
ling would be told her. He had no doubt of its 
utter falsity, even though the words of Augustus 
Frone were still in his thoughts. Sick and nervous 
as her father undoubtedly had been on that day, he 
could not have known or understood what he said. 


grace’s ball. 


257 


And yet there must have been some color of founda- 
tion for the plot — for plot he still believed it — or 
Erasmus Kift would not have had a hand in it. 
True or false, pain and mortification were in store for 
Yiolet. 

The supper was finished, and the music below told 
him that the people had again entered the parlors. 
Footsteps were heard on the staircase ; he arose has- 
tily and left the room. It was so dimly lighted that 
he went out through a different door from that which 
he had came in at without knowing it. He found 
himself in a narrow passage, which led to the stair- 
way in the rear of the house. Still hearing the 
voices below, he rightly conjectured he could join the 
others by descending these stairs as well as by re- 
tracing his steps. They, too, were dark, and he was 
obliged to guide himself by the railing. Half way 
down them, he noticed two people standing together. 
They had moved to one side to let him pass. Down 
the stairs he went, and, when he got opposite them, 
stopped and looked at them. Then he went on until 
he reached the bottom, and, strange to say, although 
he could not understand it, the fact that he had 
encountered Hatton and Mrs. Sanders holding a secret 
conversation in that remarkable place did not sur- 
prise him. He felt sure that it had something to do 
with Yiolet, but what it was he did not know. 

17 


258 


QUEARLE ARRIVES. 


CHAPTEB XXIV. 

QUEARLE ARRIVES. 

M R. KIFT had never manifested more outward 
and inward satisfaction than when he detailed 
to Hatton the result of his interview with Augustus 
Frone. He actually laughed aloud, as he dilated on 
the docile and obedient manner in which his client 
had agreed with him. He had consented to do 
everything that had been suggested. 

“Frone,” said Mr. Kift, “is generally stubborn and 
inclined to have his own way about matters, even 
when he knows nothing about them, but he was as 
humble as a monk when I put the case before him 
in its true light. Poor devil, he seemed absolutely 
crushed! I’d be sorry for him, if there was anything 
to be sorry about. What difference does it make 
whether the girl is his daughter or that of another 
man? We are not going to take her away from 
him!” 

“Mere matter of sentiment,” Hatton agreed. 
“Nothing else; and if a man can afford to indulge 
in sentimental nonsense — something I could never do 
— why, then, of course, he must expect, now and then, 
to have his fine sensibilities a little shocked.” 

Both Hatton and Kift had good cause to congratu- 
late themselves. It was true that Augustus Frone 


QUEARLE ARRIVES. 


259 


had done as Mr. Kift had said. He admitted that 
Violet was not his daughter, but the daughter of 
William Sanders; that he had taken her, when an 
infant, for adoption, from the woman Cuddel, and that 
he had given the latter a hundred dollars. Since 
then, he had never, to his knowledge, seen either the 
man or the woman. He did not, nor would he, deny 
the parentage. If, as had been represented to him, it 
was necessary in order that Sanders should get his 
fortune, he was willing to supply the proof by his 
own testimony. The only condition he exacted was 
that Violet should be allowed to remain with him. 
And when all this was accomplished, Mr. Kift must 
be pardoned for entertaining a deep respect for his 
own forethought and sagacity. 

There only remained, then, the formality of taking 
Mr. Frone’s deposition, and an appointment had been 
made for that purpose. Everything promised well 
for the two lawyers, and the “contingent fee” seemed 
to be assured and soon to be realized, when a very 
startling event occurred. On the very day preceding 
the appointment with Mr. Frone to give his admis- 
sions the sancitity of an affidavit, Hatton came to 
Mr. Kift and announced that he was in receipt of a 
telegram from Quearle, the English solicitor, who had 
unexpectedly arrived in New York. The despatch 
said he would be with Hatton on the following day. 

Mr. Kift was thunderstruck, but Hatton received 
the intelligence with composure. In truth, nothing 
ever appeared to upset his equanimity. Mr. Kift had 
never known him to exhibit emotion of any kind 


260 


QUEARLE ARRIVES. 


except in the single instance where he had been 
accused of being indifferent to the success of their 
joint venture. 

„ “What will we do, now?” asked Mr. Kift, for once 
nonplused. 

“ There is nothing to do that I can think of just 
at present,” replied Hatton, unruffled, “What harm 
can he do, if he does come? He cannot find you 
out, except through me, and of what else are you 
afraid ? ” 

The question stung Mr. Kift. 

“I am afraid of nothing for myself, and I don’t 
know why you should speak in that manner. It 
would not surprise me if his arrival should upset our 
plans completely.” 

“Why, as to that,” said Hatton, “he may be doing 
us the best possible service. If we bring him face to 
face with Frone, and let him hear the story and see 
the proof, what else do we want?” 

“That depends upon the man himself,” pondered Mr. 
Kift. “I do not know why, but I do not like the 
idea, and yet we cannot get out of it. He would 
make it a point to see Frone anyhow, I suppose.” 

“Well, yes, I think he would,” Hatton remarked, 
with a drawl; “we have no reason to believe him 
stupid from what we know of him already.” 

“What could have made him come just at this 
time?” said Mr. Kift, impatiently, more to himself 
than to any one else. 

“It’s the way of these English solicitors,” observed 
Hatton, philosophically. “When you want them to 


QUEARLE ARRIVES. 


261 


go fast, no power can move them, and when you 
want them to go slow, nothing can hold them.” 

The anticipated advent of Quearle necessitated a 
slight change in the arrangements for the morrow. 
Hatton was to meet Quearle upon his arrival in the 
city and acquaint him with everything which had 
been done, including the appointed interview with 
Frone, leaving it to himself whether or not to be 
present. As this energetic Englishman had evidently 
crossed the Atlantic for the sole purpose of satisfying 
himself of the genuineness of the claim, of course, he 
would insist upon seeing Norton as well as Frone, 
and Mr. Kift agreed to see that Norton should be 
thoroughly prepared for the examination he would be 
obliged to undergo, and, above all things, impressed 
with the necessity of keeping sober. 

Noon of the succeeding day was the time which 
Mr. Frone had appointed to meet the lawyers, but 
before that hour he was sitting in Mr. Kift’s office, 
pale yet determined. 

Mr. Kift had acquainted him with the fact of the 
arrival of the Englishman. He received the news 
with indifference, and sat silently reading the form of 
the deposition which Mr. Kift had handed him, and 
which he said had been drawn up by Hatton. 

It wanted fifteen minutes of twelve o’clock when 
Hatton joined them. 

Mr. Kift arose and greeted him with a well- assumed 
air of distant politeness. 

“Good-morning, Mr. Hatton. I see you, like my 
client here, believe it better to be a little too soon than 


262 


QUEARLE ARRIVES. 


too late? Mr. Frone, let me make you acquainted 
with. Mr. Hatton.” 

Mr. Frone got up from his seat slowly, and the 
two merely bowed. Then Mr. Kift invited Hatton to 
be seated, saying, as he did so: 

“Your friend from across the water has disap- 
pointed you?” 

“ On the contrary, he will be here at twelve. With 
your permission, we will wait for him.” 

“By all means,” said Mr. Kift, briskly; “besides, 
that is the appointed time.” 

A dead silence then reigned in the room. Mr. 
Frone had finished reading the paper and had let it fall 
into his lap; his head went back and his eyes closed 
after his usual fashion. Kift was ostensibly busily en- 
gaged in writing at his desk. Hatton had secured a 
book from the law library, and, to all appearances, 
was absorbed in the subtleties of some able opinion. 
The scratching of Mr. Kift’s pen was the only sound 
heard. 

At last Mr. Kift laid down his pen and, taking out 
his watch, noted the time. Both hands pointed to 
twelve. He closed it with a decisive snap, and smiled 
graciously upon Hatton. 

“The English lawyers are not as punctual as their 
American brethren, Mr. Hatton. It is exactly twelve, 
but your friend is hardly as good as his word.” 

Hatton put down his book, first marking the place 
where he had left off, and pulled out his own watch. 
He glanced at it for a second, and, suspending it by the 
chain with one finger, swung it to and fro in a toying 


QUEARLE ARRIVES. 


263 


fashion. The inevitable glass next went into his eye, 
and he regarded Mr. Kift as if he were very much 
amused. Mr. Kift’s smile was not more gracious than 
his own. 

“Your timepiece is a good one,” he said, “but 
I don’t think you do Mr. Quearle justice when you 
accuse him of a want of punctuality. As you say, 
it is twelve o’clock, and” — very quietly — “I am Mr. 
Quearle!” 


264 


SHOWING HIS HAND. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

SHOWING HIS HAND. 

M R. KIET sprang to his feet, upsetting his chair 
as he did so. An instant and he understood 
everything — the course and conduct of the man who 
had made the astounding declaration, his manner, his 
speech, his lack of enthusiasm were all clear. For 
the first time in his life Mr. Kift had been duped. 

His weak red eyes burned with all the malignity 
of his soul. His thin, bloodless fingers were clutched 
convulsively. 

And yet, even in the midst of his rage, a swift 
thought, worthy of his cooler judgment, flashed into 
his mind. He turned to read the face of Augustus 
Frone, whose eyes were open now, and in them a look 
of great severity and anger. Unluckily for him, he 
misinterpreted it. He saw one bare chance and he 
made a bold dash for it. 

In a voice of righteous indignation, he broke forth: 
“ To what are we indebted for this masquerade, Mr. 
Hatton, or Mr. Quearle, or whatever your name may 
be? I will have no dealings with a sneak! Every- 
thing is off’ between us, and I say to you now, sir, 
that I don’t believe in you, your story, or your man 
Norton, and I shall not for one instant allow my 
client, Mr. Frone, to ” 


SHOWING HIS HAND. 


265 


He stopped, yet lie was not interrupted. There was 
Something in Quearle’s manner which took away his 
speech. The smiling, confident visage of the man 
told him there was something else for him to hear. 

“Sit down, Mr. Kift, and don’t excite yourself. I 
want you to understand me as I understand you. 
Do not, in the first place, let us make any mistake 
about our clients. Norton is your client — Mr. Frone 
is mine . I see you are surprised, but he is here 
himself, and you may ask him if what I say is 
true.” 

There was no need to ask. A quick glance re- 
vealed the situation to the wretched Kift. This then 
was the explanation of his pallid and angry face — the 
discovery of the baseness of his lawyer, whom he had 
so long trusted. He understood them both; they 
were there to punish him. 

Nevertheless, he made a mighty effort to regain his 
composure, and partially succeeded. Quearle was 
watching him closely to see through what new ave- 
nue he would endeavor to escape. 

“Mr. Frone,” resumed Kift, trying to speak in the 
accustomed role of adviser. “I do not know what 
scheme this man has in view, or what he has said to 
you, but one thing is certain — he has lied to you as 
he has lied to me. He has deceived you as he has 
deceived me, and is no more the Englishman Quearle 
than he is the Prince of Wales! Here are some let- 
ters from Quearle, which this man has given me,” he 
continued, fumbling nervously in one of the drawers 
of his desk, “ and here are some of his own. If you 


26 6 


SHOWING HIS HAND. 


look at them, you will find there is not the slightest 
similarity in the handwriting.” 

He held them out to Mr. Frone, but that gentleman 
refused to take them. 

“It is quite unnecessary for him to see them,” said 
Quearle, taking out his handkerchief and beginning to 
polish his glass; “there is no similarity because they 
were written by different parties. Those which you 
have all along been good enough to regard as coming 
from Quearle — whom you now see in propeia persona — 
were all written by my clerk in London, who is a 
very worthy young man, and who has been remarka- 
bly faithful in obeying the instructions I gave him 
when I left England. The other letters, as you say, 
were written by Mr. Hatton, a gentleman I have yet 
to meet. Suppose you take a seat, Mr. Kift, and let 
me tell you all about this matter.” 

Mr. Kift sank into a chair, not because he had 
been requested, but because he knew of nothing else 
to do. Mr. Frone had maintained a solemn silence 
throughout the whole dialogue. Fie never withdrew 
his stern gaze from Mr. Kift, who dare not return, 
the look. Quearle put his glass to his eye, and 
throwing his head back a little that he might better 
observe his victim, began: 

“When I first received the letter, which I have 
since learned came in reality from you, I was very 
much interested in the story it recited, and, although 
it was a remarkable one, I will confess that I was 
inclined to believe it. The second letter, however — 
in answer to my own — started a suspicion in my 


SHOWING HIS HAND. 


267 


mind. It neglected to answer several of my ques- 
tions, was very evasive, and the tone a little too 
anxious — a fault which you possess in an eminent 
degree. Without acquainting my American corres- 
pondent — y ourself — with the fact, I resolved to come 
over to this country and look into the matter. I did 
so. I was in your city quite a while before I made 
myself known to you, but I was not idle. My sus- 
picions grew stronger. I found that you were Mr. 
Frone’s counsel. I inquired about you in quarters 
where you are best known. In passing, I will say, 
Mr. Kift, that you are not astonishingly popular, or 
held in great esteem. I got possession of various 
specimens of your penmanship. You were speaking 
just now of the dissimilarity between the writing of 
Mr. QueaHe and that of Mr. Hatton; let me tell you 
it would have been better for you if your letters to Mr. 
Quearle and the letters you have sent around this 
city had been a little more dissimilar. Satisfied that 
you were my American correspondent, and knowing 
the relation you held to Mr. Frone, the conclusion 
was irresistible — you were a rascal!’’ 

He paused for a moment, took the glass from his 
eye, and began to twirl it around his fingers. Kift 
was listening intently; his face was of an ashen hue; 
his eyes were upon the floor. 

“ The next step was an easy one,” continued Quearle, 
“and I naturally believed you were engaged in some 
choice piece of villainy. Although, you will agree 
with me, that was hardly a recommendation, yet, as 
soon as it became settled in my mind, I grew very 


268 


SHOWING HIS HAND. 


anxious to make your acquaintance. It is unimport- 
ant how I got my introductory letter to you from 
our mutual legal friend in the West, an old classmate 
of mine, by the way, at Cambridge. It needed then 
but for me to give you a history of some mythical 
cases in which I had been engaged, and a hint or 
two of my supposed ideas of morals and professional 
ethics. They were exactly your own. I was the 
very man you were seeking and I was taken into 
this little venture. It was a great mistake, Mr. Kift, 
for I have done you no good.” 

“I will hear no more!” cried Kift, out of all pa- 
tience; ■ desire that you leave my office at once!” 

He w ;s so beside himself with impotent rage that 
he arose and advanced towards Quearle in a threaten- 
ing manner. 

“Grant me a few more moments’ indulgence, Mr. 
Kift,” said Quearle, smiling blandly, “ and I will be 
glad to obey you. With your very full and clear 
recital of the facts in the case, the little bits of ‘doc- 
umentary evidence,’ as you facetiously called them, 
and the opportunities I had of being present at the 
interviews with Norton, I was in a position to act 
on my own account. That there was some truth in 
the story I had no doubt. The question was — how 
much? But whether it was true, or devoid of all 
foundation, your position as attorney on both sides 
was one that no man possessing a vestige of honor, 
or honesty would occupy.” 

“It was true,” said Kift, in a scarcely audible 
voice. 


SHOWING HIS HAND. 


269 


“It was not true! You remember my absence in 
the West to ‘settle up some unfinished law business?’ 
I see by your face that you do. It was in reference 
to this matter. I found Nancy Cuddel. She is en- 
feebled by age and her mind is weak. She is a crip- 
ple, made so many years ago by this brute of a man, 
Norton, in a fit of drunken fury.” 

“That disproves nothing,” muttered Kift, his courage 
reviving a little. 

Quearle went on, as if he had not heard a word he 
had said: 

“She put out this child of Norton’s for adoption to 
a gentleman named Johnson and his wife, and 3ceived 
one hundred dollars for her part in the tra, saction. 
It was a sort of a business with her. When Norton 
got sober, he wanted his child back again. There 
was nothing for her to do but to deceive him. She 
had heard of the adoption by Mr. Frone of the child 
whom we now know as Miss Frone, the daughter of 
his confidential clerk, who absconded and has never 
been heard from. I would not mention the fact did 
you not know it as well as both of us. Nancy Cud- 
del told Norton that Mr. Frone had his daughter. 
He endeavored to see Mr. Frone, but did not succeed. 
He sought legal assistance, and, after investigation, 
learned that the woman had lied to him. He went 
to her. She persisted in the story she had told him. 
He beat her cruelly and injured her for life, but could 
not get her to alter it. She lived in mortal terror of 
him; she does so to this day. Her mind, never very 
strong, gave way. The lie is the only thing it retains. 


270 


SHOWING HIS HAND. 


The poor woman is not guilty of it now, for she 
believes it to be the truth.” 

“And you have gotten all this from a crazy 
woman?” sneered Mr. Kift. 

“Don’t flatter yourself to that effect. I have had 
the accounts of others, which, together with the cir- 
cumstances and facts which have since come to my 
knowledge, corroborated what I have just related.” 

“What— others?” asked Mr. Kift, fearfully. 

“Detectives I employed in San Francisco, and your 
client, Norton.” 

Kift endeavored to stifle a groan. 

“ I am not telling you any news, Mr.- Kift. I ascer- 
tained precisely what you did, and probably in the 
same manner. You have known everything from the 
time you answered my advertisement. But when I 
was taken in as counsel, you did not choose to lay 
bare all the facts. You were afraid. You thought I 
might not possibly be as great a scoundrel as your- 
self. It was not treating me fairly or professionally, 
Mr. Kift, but yet I am indebted to you for your 
good opinion.” 

“What did you ascertain?” asked Mr. Kift, hoping 
against hope. 

“I am glad I interest you; I was beginning to fear 
I was wearying you. Norton’s child, adopted by the 
Johnsons, died when she was three years of age. I 
had the pleasure of seeing the Johnsons several times. 
They are very nice people. It was a great risk, Mr. 
Kift, to endeavor to play your game, when a little 
fact like this one, so susceptible of easy proof, might 


SHOWING HIS HAND. 


271 


be forthcoming at any moment and ignominionsly 
defeat you! I can’t help admiring your courage, for 
you have courage of a peculiar sort.” 

Mr. Kift’s endurance was several times on the eve 
of giving way. By a strong effort he maintained it, for 
he had resolved to hear everything Quearle had to 
say. The man was showing his hand, and it might 
yet be that he had not all the trumps. 

.“I returned East,” continued Quearle, placidly “and, 
on the very night of my arrival, I met, quite acciden- 
tally, a gentleman, who, if such a thing were needed, 
confirmed beyond all manner of doubt the conclusion 
at which I had arrived.” 

Mr. Kift raised his eyes inquiringly. It was plain 
this was going to be news to him. Quearle noted the 
look and answered it. 

“No; I am sure you do not know him. His name 
is Alfred Twolit. He is a literary gentleman and is 
writing a highly entertaining novel, in which your 
client Norton will figure quite extensively. I am sur- 
prised, Mr. Kift, that you should have allowed your 
client to be so communicative. Twolit knows as much 
about him as you do. He was told the same story. 
He is more generous than yourself in permitting others 
to hear it. Bead his novel, by all means, when it is 
published.” 

Mr. Kift was slowly but surely going down in the 
quicksand of his own villainy. He was a desperate 
man, and, unable any longer to bear the taunting 
speech, cried out: 

“Who then is Norton?” 


272 


SHOWING HIS HAND. 


“He is William Sanders, the brother of Archibald 
Sanders, of whose will I am the executor,” replied 
Quearle, altogether unmoved by the question. “ I am 
sorry to say it, but it is undeniably true. And I am 
'more sorry to observe that he is utterly irreclaimable.” 

“You admit I was right when I said it?” shrieked 
Mr. Kift, with a gleam of triumph in his red eyes. 

“I do, but his child is dead; Miss Frone is not his 
daughter; he is entitled to nothing under the will; 
you knew all this.” 

The gratification caused by the admission educed by 
the question was of short duration, and Mr. Kift re- 
lapsed into pitiable despair. Quearle was not done 
with him yet. 

“I am not in the habit, Mr. Kift, of volunteering 
my services or pressing them upon any one, but, after I 
had discovered everything, I thought I was in honor 
bound to make an exception to my rule. I had be- 
fore been acting for myself; I now resolved to act for 
the man whom you intended as your victim. It was 
a duty I owed, not only to the cause of Justice, but 
to my professional brethren both here and abroad. It 
is you, and such as you, who breed the calumnies 
every day cast at our noble calling.” 

Mr. Kift knew what was coming. He looked weak, 
forsaken and helpless. 

“I called upon Mr. Frone and told him of the plot. 
Naturally, he would not believe me at first. He did 
not admire you — I do 1 not think he respected you a 
great deal — but he confided in you. He thought you 
were honest. I convinced him of his error. From that 


SHOWING HIS HAND. 


273 


time I have been bis counsel. He has obeyed me. 
Everything I have suggested he has done. Seeming to 
take your advice, he has taken mine. Those admissions 
which you hailed with such delight, and with which 
I was regaled, were prompted by me. Pardon my 
egotism. I may be excused at a moment like this. 
Our object was to confront you with your own wick- 
edness. It would not have been an attractive one to 
you — there was no ‘contingent fee 7 expectant. Yet we 
have our reward — if reward it be — in your disgrace. 
The biter has been bit, Mr. Kift! We will not detain 
you longer , 77 rising with Mr. Frone. “We bid you 
good- afternoon . 7 7 

Quearle stood at the door and waited for Mr. Frone 
to pass out. 

Mr. Kift was not altogether overwhelmed yet. Trem- 
bling with shame, rage and mortification, he called out 
quickly to Mr. Frone. 

“ Y ou love that daughter of yours very much, Frone ! 
That is what you told me. My discovery was to be 
kept confidentially, of course. I tell you now, sir, all 
the world shall know it ! 77 

Quearle motioned Mr. Frone to walk on, and, facing 
Mr. Kift, said, in a low, determined tone : 

“The world shall know nothing about it, without, 
at the same time, knowing that you have been pub- 
licly disbarred from the practice of your profession ! 77 

Frank Harper was at his desk. He knew who 
had been in the inner room, and varied and conflict- 
ing were his emotions when he saw the two come 
out — fear, hope, distrust. Mr. Frone went up to him 
18 


274 


SHOWING HIS HAND. 


“Frank,” said he, “this is no place for you. Come 
with us.” 

The young man got up without a moment's hesita- 
tion, and followed them out of the office, never to 
return. 

Mr. Kift was left alone, with no companions but 
his thoughts. They were miserable enough and 
cculd not help him; he sank in the quicksand. 


CONCLUSION. 


275 


CHAPTER XXYI. 

CONCLUSION. 

M ORE than a year liad passed. It was towards 
the close of May, when the country is always 
more beautiful than at any other time. It is then 
the trees and fields are so refreshingly green — not a 
withered leaf or a sunburnt piece of sward to mar 
the effect — and everything — the birds, the heather, the 
rivers, the brooks and the skies — speaks of love, of 
beauty, of buoyant hope. 

“Bowls” Watson, whip in hand, was waiting for the 
train at Arnottsville. His coach and team were 
standing at some little distance away, ready to trans- 
port any one desiring to visit Brementown. 

During the winter months it was not an unusual 
thing for “Bowls” to return to the town without a 
passenger. The United States mail, however, was 
sent daily to Brementown, with unfailing regularity, 
just the same as to more pretentious localities, and as 
the owners of the stage line — or rather, the stage 
coach, by them pompously denominated a “line” — re- 
ceived a compensation from the government for its 
carriage, the coach never missed a journey. In the 
summer “Bowls” could always reckon on a passenger 
or two, and not unfrequently he had more fares than 
corresponding accommodations. 


276 


CONCLUSION. 


He was resting his arms on the window-sill of the 
station building, talking to his friend, the agent, who 
was busily ticking away at his telegraphic instru- 
ment, when the morning train arrived. Leaving the 
window, he walked down the platform to have his 
usual joke with the baggage-master or brakeman. 
These gentlemen, like most others of their class, were 
of a happy and genial temperament, and had the fac- 
ulty of becoming thoroughly acquainted with all kin- 
dred spirits along their route. 

As the train steamed away, “Bowls” looked around 
in search of passengers. There were only two, and 
one of them he immediately recognized as Mr. Charley 
Chanwood. The other was a young lady whom he 
had a dim recollection of having seen before. 

“Here you are just as natural as life!” cried 
Charley, cheerily, shaking “ Bowls’ ” hand vigorously ; 
“coach here?” 

“ Bowls ” was too much pleased to articulate ; he 
could only point with his whip-handle. 

“ I thought so,” Charley went on ; “I knew I 
could count on you just as sure as stocks go down 
after they go up. That’s what I said to Grace. Oh ! I 
forgot, that little affair happened since I was out here.” 

“Which?” asked “Bowls,” bewildered by the com- 
bination of volubility, rapidity and good-humor. 

“ ‘Bowls,’ this is my wife,” standing aside so that he 
might not obstruct the view; “ don’t you remember her ? ” 

“Bowls” took off his hat and bowed very energeti- 
cally two or three times, but appeared sorely puzzled. 
Suddenly a light broke in on him. 


ONCLUSION. 


277 


“It ain’t — * — ” 

“Yes, it is, too; jnst the very same,” Charley put 
in; “you saw her here a couple of summers ago. 
What do you think of her? ” 

“Charley!” expostulated Grace, at this unmanly 
proceeding, attempting to strike him with her parasol. 

“Bowls” finally managed to stammer out: 

“Mighty glad I am to see you both!” 

“ How is Mrs. Donovan ? ” asked the malicious 
Charley; “or, perhaps, I should say Mrs. Watson?” 

“She’s well,” replied “Bowls” hurriedly; “are ye 
goin’ over with me? I’ll fetch the coach around.” 

“Certainly we are. Who did you say was well? 
Mrs •?” 

“Donovan,” said “Bowls,” doggedly, when he saw 
evasion was impossible. Then he became suddenly 
engrossed in trying the lash of his whip. 

“Why, I’m surprised at you! I thought I had 
fixed everything between you.” 

“Bowls” glanced up furtively, as he said: 

“You came near spoiling everything; that’s what 
you did!” 

“I?” 

“Oh! well, it’s all right now, anyhow,” explained 
“Bowls,” hastily; “I don’t mind telling ye that she’s 
goin’ to be ” 

“Mrs. Watson?” 

“Bowls” gave a quick, emphatic downward jerk of 
his head, and an unctuous inward chuckle, and started 
off speedily to his coach to prevent any further 
investigation. 


278 


CONCLUSION. 


“Won’t it be a surprise for them!” said Charley to 
Grace, after they were seated in the old stage and 
were rumbling along the road. “ Do you know, 
Grace, the last time I came here I surprised every- 
body?” 

“Agreeably or disagreeably?” she asked. 

“ I believe disagreeably, so far as George was con- 
cerned, for I caught him spooning with ” 

“Don’t use that horrid vulgar word, I beg of you!” 
Grace interrupted, with a shudder. 

“Yes, I will,” said Charley, stoutly; “it’s a good 
word and very expressive. I say I caught George 
spooning, or attempting to spoon, with Violet. I 
thought I’d worry him a little by pretending I was 
struck with her. He was awfully jealous, poor fel- 
low! for,' of course, he didn’t know I was thinking oi 
you all the time!” 

“And were you?” said Grace, looking fondly at 
him, as if she wanted to believe him, but, at the same 
time,, was a little doubtful. 

“All the time!” Charley replied, shamelessly. 

The declaration seemed to please her, and she gave 
his hand a gentle little pat. The passing landscape* 
brought her thoughts back to the eventful summer. 

“The last time I drove along here, Frank was with 
me.” 

“So he was,” mused her husband, “and he’s had a 
streak of luck since then. George says he is a won- 
derful young man, and has already made a name for 
himself. I guess he’ll make money out of his horo- 
scope! ” 


CONCLUSION. 


279 


“That isn’t what it is,” said Grace, in a superior 
way; “Frank says it’s a spectroscope 

“Well, spectroscope, then. What difference does it 
make what you call it, so long as it promises to 
pay?”. 

Grace was going to explain that it made all the 
difference in the world, but just at that moment the 
stage began to roll and pitch and creak. Charley 
knew what it meant, and, telling his wife to hold 
tightly to the seat, exhorted “Bowls” in stentorian 
tones to “whoop it up!” The request was altogether 
unnecessary, but it gratified “Bowls” immensely, and 
he endeavored to put more than his usual spirit into 
the descent to Brementown. 

Gardner was at his customary post, and, learning 
that the arrivals desired to hire a conveyance, dis- 
appeared, and, in a comparatively short spac.e of time, 
the identical carriage with the ornamental fringe, 
which Charley had once scorned to ride in, came in 
sight. Sitting on the front seat was Gardner’s boy, 
somewhat larger, but easily recognizable, and with 
the same vacant expression upon his face. The mel- 
ancholy aspect of the horse was, if possible, more 
pathetic than ever. 

Charley hailed the spectacle with delight, and, after 
several futile endeavors to make Gardner’s boy com- 
prehend. that his services were not required, pushed 
him aside, put Grace into the ancient carriage, and 
drove towards the “Mansion.” The horse, having no 
reason to suppose that any other than Gardner’s boy 
was driving, proceeded in the slow and measured 


280 


CONCLUSION. 


step it loved so “well, but tlie new driver failed to 
appreciate the quiet dignity exemplified in the walk, 
and, securing a thick stick, belabored the poor quad- 
ruped in a way which was particularly annoying to 
it, and very materially interfered with the stately 
gait. 

“How marriage changes one!” moralized Charley, 
aloud. He had just put down his stick to vary the 
exercise by jerking the reins. 

“I am sorry to say it does,” said Grace, apparently 
addressing her remark to Gardner’s horse; “before 
you were married, you were as gentle as a lamb, and 
now, in my presence, you beat this unfortunate animal 
so unmercifully that — ” 

“What I was going to say was that, before our 
marriage, I walked over to the ‘Mansion.’ I was 
too proud to ride in this concern, and yet here I am 
— how does that boy manage to make this beast move! ” 
he cried, suddenly, as the horse, encouraged by the 
sounds of conversation, showed, a tendency to relapse 
into its normal lethargy. 

“Gracious me! How should / know?” 

“That boy reminds me of Emma Stannel,” he pre- 
sently remarked. 

“She certainly would feel flattered by the resem- 
blance!” laughed Grace. 

“Pshaw! You women are always thinking of per- 
sonal appearance ! It was an incident that occurred at 
the ‘Mansion,’ in which he played no small part. 
Strange she hasn’t got a husband yet!” 

“Perhaps she doesn’t want, one,” Grace replied, feel- 


CONCLUSION. 


281 


ing in some way that there was an implied aspersion 
on her sex. 

“That must be the reason,” he assented, with an 
air of great gravity and deliberation. 

He had wearied of his exertions to incite Gardner’s 
horse to greater activity, and was paying little atten- 
tion to it. By force of habit it turned into the 
grounds at the “Mansion,” and was nearing the house 
before either of the two occupants of the carriage ob-, 
served where they were. 

Suddenly Grace caught Charley’s arm. 

“ Look ! ” she exclaimed. 

Involuntarily he pulled, back the reins and the 
horse stood still. 

“What is it?” asked Charley, twisting his head 
about in every direction. 

“Hush! Look there!” she answered, in a thrilling 
whisper, pointing off from the road. 

A short distance away, and in the shade of some 
large trees, stood George Darcy, holding Violet’s face 
between his hands, and gazing down tenderly into her 
eyes. They had paused for a moment in their ram- 
ble, and he, lover-like, was fondly contemplating the 
object of his love, neither of them dreaming they 
were observed. 

Even Gardner’s horse had turned his head in the 
direction of the happy couple, and, with ears intelli- 
gently upturned, appeared to have taken in the situation. 

“It’s disgusting!” at length said Charley. 

“It’s no such thing — it’s perfectly lovely!” retorted 
Grace, with true feminine appreciation of the tableau. 


282 


CONCLUSION. 


A brilliant idea came into Charley’s head. 

“ I’m going to yell ! ” he said. - 

“ If you do, I’ll never speak to you again as long 
as you live ! ” 

This dire threat did not prevent the audacious hus- 
band from doing as he said, and the woods were 
awakened by a loud, “ Hello ! George ! ” 

Darcy and Violet looked around in great surprise, 
and then hastened forward to meet the intruders. 

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, George!” 
said Charley, when they arrived within speaking dis- 
tance. “ Here you have been married three months, 
and yet, when we come upon you unawares, we find 
you both making love like a pair of turtle doves ! ” 

“ I only wish I had such a husband ! ” said Grace, 
apologetically, for her heedless spouse. 

“ Then, why didn’t you get one ? ” Charley demanded, 
as he lifted her out of the carriage. “And upon re- 
flection, I don’t know as I ought to blame George 
very much. With such a wife one might well — ” 

“ Why didn’t you try for her, then, in time ? ” cried 
Grace. “ Violet would have done anything for me, 
even to relieving me of your attentions. Wouldn’t 
you, Violet?” 

“ And you would have been grateful to me if I had 
done so?” asked Violet, smiling, and glancing know- 
ingly at Charley, who was clearly bent on mischief. 

“I would have worshiped you!” 

“ It seems to me that none of you are considering 
me, ” said Darcy. 

“Why you could have married me! What more 


CONCLUSION. 


283 


would you want ? ” said Grace, putting her head under 
Violet’s arm and looking roguishly up at him. 

“ I tell you what it is,” interposed Charley, “ I 
am going to make a startling revelation : I did pro- 
pose to Violet once, and she wouldn’t have me! 
Isn’t it so, Violet ? ” 

Her eyes met his in a remonstrating way. Surprise 
and incredulity were on the faces of the others. 

.“You may have done so,” said Violet, simply, “but 
I rather think you were not very serious about it. 
You were only serious once in your life, Charley,” 
and she put her arms around Grace. 

Charley had reached the limit of . his teasing. 
Something suspiciously like tears was coming into 
the eyes of his fair little wife. His manner changed, 
and, drawing her gently to his side, he kissed her 
and said: 

“You are right, Violet, — only once in my life, and 
that was my happiest moment!” 

“ What are you going to do with this horse ? ” 
asked Darcy, thinking it about time something prac- 
tical was said. 

“Nothing!” answered Charley, coolly. “What are 
you going to do with him? I cheerfully leave the 
whole responsibility with you!” 

“I suppose I must assume it, and see that Gardner 
gets his own again.” 

Aunt Tabitha met them at the house, her face 
radiant with pleasure. She kissed them all, including 
Charley, who thereupon whispered to Grace that he 
considered it the greatest mistake of his life that he 


284 


CONCLUSION. 


had not made love to her , as he had always suspected 
she had a great fondness for him, and to have become 
George’s uncle would have been such an excellent 
joke on that gentleman! 

“How pleasant it is to have them with us again!” 
said Yiolet to Darcy, when they were alone; “it takes 
me back to those happy days when first I learned to 
love you.” 

“My love,” he whispered, folding her in his em- 
brace, “they were not happier than those in store for 
us* The cloud has passed — the sun is shining!” 


THE END. 


T. B. PET ERSON ... BROTHERS’ PUB LICATIONS. 

Orders solicited from Booksellers, Librarians, Canvassers, News 
Agents, and all others in want of good and fast-selling 
books, which will t>e supplied at very Low Kates. 


MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH’S FAMOUS WORKS. 

Complete in forty -three large duodecimo volumes , bound in morocco cloth , gilt bad* 
price $ 1.50 each ; or $ 61.50 a set , each set is put up in a neat box. 

Ishmael ; or, In the Depths, being Self-Made; or, Out of Depths.... $1 5fe 
Self-Raised; or, From the Depths. Sequel to a Ishmael.” 1 50 


The Mother-in-Law, $1 50 

The Fatal Secret, 1 50 

How He Won Her, 1 50 

Fair Play, 1 50 

The Spectre Lover, 1 50 

Victor’s Triumph, 1 50 

A Beautiful Fiend, 1 50 

The Artist’s Love, 1 50 

A Noble Lord, 1 50 

Lost Heir of Linlithgow, 1 50 

Tried for her Life, I 50 

Cruel as the Gravo, 1 50 

The Maiden Widow, 1 50 

The Family Doom, 1 50 

The Bride’s Fate, 1 50 

The Changed Brides, 1 50 

Fallen Pride, . 1 50 

The Widow’s Son, 1 50 

The Bride of Llewellyn, 1 50 

The Fatal Marriage, .*.... 1 50 


The Deserted Wife, 1 50 

The Fortune Seeker, 1 50 

The Bridal Eve, 1 50 

The Lost Heiress, 1 50 

The Two Sisters, 1 50 

Lady of the Isle, 1 50 

Prince of Darkness, 1 50 

The Three Beauties, 1 50 

Vivia; or the Secret of Power, 1 50 

Love’s Labor Won, 1 50 

The Gipsy’s Prophecy, 1 50 

Retribution, 1 50 

The Christmas Guest, 1 50 

Haunted Homestead, 1 50 

Wife’s Victory, 1 50 

Allworth Abbey, 1 50 

India ; Pearl of Pearl River,.. 1 5(1 

Curse of Clifton, 1 50 

Discarded Daughter, 1 50 

The Mystery of Dark Hollow,.. 1 50 


The Missing Bride; or, Miriam, the Avenger, 1 50 

The Phantom Wedding; or, The Fall of the House of Flint, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

Self-Made; or, Out of the Depths. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 
Complete in two volumes, cloth, price $1.50 each, or $3.00 a set. 

CAROLINE LEE HENTZ’S EXQUISITE BOOKS. 

Complete in twelve large duodecimo volumes , bound in morocco cloth , gilt back, 
price $ 1.60 each; or $ 18.00 a set , each set is put up in a neat box. 


Love after Marriage, $1 50 

Eoline; or Magnolia Vale, 1 50 

The Lost Daughter, 1 50 


Ernest Linwood, $1 50 

The Planter’s Northern Bride,.. 1 50 

Courtship and Marriage, 1 50 

Rena; or, the Snow Bird, 1 50 

Marcus Warland, I 50 

Linda; or, the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole, 1 

Robert Graham; the Sequel to “ Linda; or Pilot of Belle Creole,”... 1 
Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1 .50 each. 


The Banished Son, 1 

Helen and Arthur, 1 


50 

50 

50 

50 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. (1) 


2 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS’ FAVORITE NOVELS. 

Complete in tvjenty-three large duodecimo volumes , bound in morocco cloth , gilt back^ 
price $ 1.50 each ; or $ 34.50 a set , each set is put up in a neat box. 

Norston’s Rest, $1 50 

Bertha’s Engagement, 1 50 

Bellehood and Bondage, 1 50 

The Old Countess,. 1 50 

Lord Hope’s Choice, 1 50 


The Reigning Belle,. 
Palaces and Prisons,. 
Married in Haste,...., 
Wives and Widows, . 


1 50 


The Soldiers’ Orphans, $1 50 

A Noble Woman, 1 50 

1 50 

1 50 


Silent Struggles,. 

The Rejected Wife,.... 

The Wife’s Secret, 

Mary Derwent, 

Fashion and Famine,. 
The Curse of Gold,. 


Mabel’s Mistake, 1 50 


The Old Homestead,. 


Ruby Gray’s Strategy, 1 50 

Doubly False, 1 50 | The Heiress, 1 50 | The Gold Brick,... 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

MISS ELIZA A. DUPUY’S WONDERFUL BOOKS. 

Complete in fourteen large duodecimo volumes , bound in morocco cloth , gilt back , price 
$ 1.50 each ; or $ 21.00 a set , each set is put up in a neat box. 


A New Way to Win a Fortune $1 50 

The Discarded Wife, 1 50 

The Clandestine Marriage, 1 50 

The Hidden Sin, 1 50 

The Dethroned Heiress, 1 50 

The Gipsy’s Warning, 1 50 

All For Love, 1 50 


Why Did He Marry Her ? $1 50 

Who Shall be Victor? 1 50 

The Mysterious Guest, 1 50 

Was He Guilty? 1 50 

The Cancelled Will, 1 50 

The Planter’s Daughter, 1 50 

Michael Rudolph,.. 1 50 


Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each 


LIST OF THE BEST COOK BOOKS PUBLISHED. 

Every housekeeper should possess at least one of the* following Cook Books , as they 
would save the price of it in a week’s cooking. 

Miss Leslie’s Cook Book, a Complete Manual to Domestic Cookery 

in all its Branches. Paper cover, $1.00, or bound in cloth, $1 50 

The Queen of the Kitchen; or, The Southern Cook Book. Con- 
taining 1007 Old Southern Family Receipts for Cooking, ...Cloth, 1 50 

Mrs. Hale’s New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 50 

Petersons’ New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 50 

Widdifield’s New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 50 

Mrs. Goodfellow’s Cookery as it Should Be, Cloth, 1 50 

The National Cook Book. By a Practical Housewife, Cloth, 1 50 

The Young Wife’s Cook Book,.. Cloth, 1 50 

Miss Leslie’s New Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, .1 50 

Mrs. Hale’s Receipts for the Million, Cloth, 1 50 

The Family Save- Alt. By author c* “ National Cook Book,” Cloth, 1 50 

Prancatelli’s Modern Cook Book. With the most approved methods 
of French, English, German, and Italian Cookery. With Sixty- 
two Illustrations. One vol., 600 pages, bound in merocco cloth, 5 00 


(BIT* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Pried, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 8 


MRS. C. A. WARFIELD’S POPULAR WORKS. 

Complete in nine large duodecimo volumes , bound in morocco cloth , gilt back , prict 
$1.50 each; or $13.50 a set , each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Cardinal’s Daughter, $1 50 Miriam's Memoirs, $1 50 

Feme Fleming, 1 50 Monfort Hall, 1 50 

The Household of Bouverie,.... 1 50 Sea and Shore, 1 50 

A Double Wedding, 1 50 Hester Howard's Temptation,... 1 50 

Lady Ernestine; or, The Absent Lord of Rocheforte, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

FREDRIKA BREMER’S DOMESTIC NOVELS. 

Complete in six large duodecimo volumes , bound in cloth , gilt back , price $1.50 each ; 
or $9.00 a set , each set is put up in a neat box. 

Father and Daughter, $1 50 I The Neighbors, $1 50 

The Four Sisters, 1 50 I The Home, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

Life in the Old World. In two volumes, cloth, price, 3 00 


a. K. PHILANDER DOESTICKS’ FUNNY BOOKS. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes , bound in cloth , gilt back , price $1.60 
each ; or $6.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Doesticks' Letters, $1 50 | The Elephant Club, $1 50 

Plu-Bi-Bus-Tah, 1 50 | Witches of New York, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 


JAMES A. MAITLAND’S HOUSEHOLD STORIES. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes , bound in cloth , gilt back , price $1.50 
each ; or $10.50 a set , each set is put up in a neat box. 


The Watchman, $1 50 

The Wanderer, I 50 

The Lawyer’s Story, 1 50 


Diary of an Old Doctor, $1 50 

Sartaroe, 1 50 

The Three Cousins, 1 50 


The Old Patroon ; or the Great Van Broek Property, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 


T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE’S ITALIAN NOVELS. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes , bound in cloth, gilt back , price $1.50 
each; or $10.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Sealed Packet, $1 50 | Dream Numbers, $1 50 

Garstang Grange, 1 50 ! Beppo, the Conscript, 1 50 

Leonora Casaloni,... 1 50 | Gemma, 1 50 | Marietta, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

FRANK FORESTER’S SPORTING SCENES. 

Frank Forester’s Sporting Scenes and Characters. By Henry William 
Herbert. A New, Revised, and Enlarged Edition, with a Life of the 
Author, a New Introductory Chapter, Frank Forester’s Portrait and 
Autograph, with a full length picture of him in his sheoting costume, 
and seventeen other illustrations, from original designs by Darley and 
Frank Forester. Two vols., morocco cloth, bevelled boards, $4.00. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prieer 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa, 


4 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS, 


WILKIE COLLINS’ BEST BOOKS. 

Basil; or, The Crossed Path..$l 50 | The Dead Secret. 12mo $1 50 

Above are each in one large duodecimo volume, bound in cloth. 

The Dead Secret, 8vo 75 I The Queen’s Revenge, 75 

Basil; or, the Crossed Path, 75 Miss or Mrs? 50 

Hide and Seek, 75 j Mad Monkton, 50 

After Dark, 75 Sights a-Foot, 50 

The Stolen Mask, 25 | The Yellow Mask,... 25 | Sister Rose,,.. 25 

The above books are each issued in paper cover, in octavo form. 

EMERSON BENNETT’S INDIAN STORIES. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back , price $1.50 
each ; or $10.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Border Rover, $1 50 I Bride of the Wilderness, $1 50 

Clara Moreland, 1 50 Ellen Norbury, I 50 

The Orphan’s Trials, I 50 ' Kate Clarendon, 1 50 

Viola; or Adventures in the Far South-West, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

The Heiress of Bellefonte, 75 | The Pioneer’s Daughter, 75 

GREEN’S WORKS ON GAMBLING. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back , price $1.50 
each ; or $6.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

gambling Exposed, $1 50 j The Reformed Gambler, $1 50 

The Gambler’s Life, 1 50 | Secret Band of Brothers, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 


each 


DOW’S PATENT SERMONS. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back , price $ 1.25 
or $5.00 a set , each set is put up in a neat box. 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 3d 

Series, cloth, $1 25 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 4th 
Series, cloth, 1 25 


Dow’s Patent Sermons, 1st 

Series, cloth, $1 25 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 2d 
Series, cloth 1 25 


Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.00 each. 


GEORGE SAND’S GREATEST NOVELS. 


Consuelo, 12mo., cloth, $1 50 I Jealousy, 12mo., cloth, $1 50 

Countess of Rudolstadt, 1 50 I Indiana, 12mo., cloth, 1 50 

Above are each published in 12mo., cloth, gilt side and back. 
Fanchon, the Cricket, paper cover, 50 cents, or fine edition, in cloth, 1 50 
First and True Love. With 11 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents ; cloth, 1 00 

Consuelo. Paper cover, 75 I The Corsair 50 

Simon. A Love Story, 50 I The Last Aldini, 50 

The Countess of Rudolstadt. The Sequel to Consuelo. Paper cover, 75 

MISS BRADDON’S FASCINATING BOOKS. 

Aurora Floyd, 75 I The Lawyer's Secret, 25 

Aurora Floyd, cloth 1 00 | For Better, For Worse, 75 

Above Books will he sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prioe, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON A. BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 5 


CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. ILLUSTRATED. 

This edition is printed from large type, octavo size, each book being complete 
in one large octavo volume , bound in Morocco Cloth , with Gilt Character 
Figures on back , and Medallion on side, price $1.50 each, or $27.00 a set, 
contained in eighteen volumes, the whole containing near Six Hundred 
Illustrations , by Cruikshank, Phiz, Browne, Maclise, and other artists . 
The Pickwick Papers. By Charles Dickens. With 32 Illustrations, .$1.50 
Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles Dickens. With 37 Illustrations,.... 1 50 

David Copperfield. By Charles Dickens. With 8 Illustrations, 1 50 

Oliver Twist. By Charles Dickens. With 24 Illustrations, 1 50 

Bleak House. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations, 1 50 

Dombey and Son. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations, 1 50 

Sketches by “ Boz.” By Charles Dickens. With 20 Illustrations,... 1 50 

Little Dorrit. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations, 1 50 

Our Mutual Friend. By Charles Dickens. With 42 Illustrations.... 1 50 
Great Expectations. By Charles Dickens. With 34 Illustrations,... 1 50 
Lamplighter’s Story. By Charles Dickens. With 7 Illustrations,... 1 50 

Barnaby Budge. By Charles Dickens. With 50 Illustrations, 1 50 

Martin Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dickens. With 8 Illustrations,. .... 1 50 
Old Curiosity Shop. By Charles Dickens. With 101 Illustrations,. 1 50 

Christmas Stories. By Charles Dickens. With 12 Illustrations, 1 50 

Dickens’ New Stories. By Charles Dickens. With portrait of author, 1 50 
A Tale of Two Cities. By Charles Dickens. With 64 Illustrations,. 1 50 
Charles Dickens’ American Notes and Pic-Nic Papers, 1 50 

BOOKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The folloioing books are each issued in one large duodecimo volume t 


bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each . 

The Initials. A Love Story. By Baroness Tautphoeus, $1 50 

Married Beneath Him. By author of “ Lost Sir Massingberd,” 1 50 

Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “ Zaidee,” 1 50 

Family Pride. By author of “ Pique,” “ Family Secrets,” etc 1 50 

The Autobiography of Edward Wortley Montagu, 1 50 

The Forsaken Daughter. A Companion to “ Linda,” 1 50 

Love and Liberty. A Revolutionary Story. By Alexander Dumas, 1 50 

The Morrisons. By Mrs. Margaret Hosmer, 1 50 

The Rich Husband. By author of “ George Geith,” . : 1 50 

The Lost Beauty. By a Noted Lady of the Spanish Court, 1 50 

My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester. A Charming Love Story, 150 


The Quaker Soldier. A Revolutionary Romance. By Judge Jones,.... 1 50 
Memoirs of Vidocq, the French Detective. His Life and Adventures, 1 50 
The Belle of Washington. With her Portrait. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 50 
High Life in Washington. A Life Picture. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 50 
Courtship and Matrimony. By Robert Morris. With a Portrait,... 1 50 

The Jealous Husband. By Annette Marie Maillard, 1 50 

The Conscript; or, the Days of Napoleon 1st. By Alex. Dumas,.... 1 50 
Cousin Harry. By Mrs. Grey, author of “ The Gambler’s Wife,” etc. 1 50 
Above books are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 


1^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


6 T. B, PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following boohs are each issued in one large duodecimo volume , 
bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each . 

The Count of Monte-Cristo. By Dumas. Illustrated, paper $1.00,..$1 50 


The Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, price $1.00; or cloth,.. 1 50 

Camille; or, the Fate of a Coquette. By Alexander Dumas, 1 50 

Love and Money. By J. B. Jones, author of the “ Rival Belles,”. .. 1 50 
The Brother's Secret; or, the Count De Mara. By William Godwin, 1 56 
The Lost Love. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “ Margaret Maitland,” 1 50 

The Bohemians of London. By Edward M. Whitty, 1 50 

Wild Sports and Adventures in Africa. By Major W. C. Harris, 1 50 

The Life, Writings, and Lectures of the late “ Fanny Fern,” 1 50 

The Life and Lectures of Lola Montez, with her portrait, 1 50 

Wild Southern Scenes. By author of “Wild Western Scenes,”...;.. 1 50 
Currer Lyle ; or, the Autobiography of an Actress. By Louise Reeder. 1 50 

The. Cabin and Parlor. By J. Thornton Randolph. Illustrated, 1 56 

The Little Beauty. A Love Story. By Mrs. Grey, 1 50 

Lizzie Glenn ; or, the Trials of a Seamstress. By T. S. Arthur, 1 50 

Lady Maud ; or, the Wonder of Kingswood Chase. By Pierce Egan, 1 50 

Wilfred Montressor ; or, High Life in New York. Illustrated, 1 50 

Lorrimer Littlegood, by author “ Harry Coverdale’s Courtship,” 1 50 

Married at Last. A Love Story. By Annie Thomas, 1 50 

Shoulder Straps. By Henry Morford, author of “Days of Shoddy,” 1 50 
Days of Shoddy. By Henry Morford, author of “Shoulder Straps,” 1 50 

The Coward. By Henry Morford, author of “ Shoulder Straps,” 1 50 

Above books are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

The Roman Traitor. By Henry William Herbert. A Roman Story, 1 75 
The Last Athenian. By Victor Rydberg. From the Swedish, 1 75 


MRS. HENRY WOOD’S BEST BOOKS, IN CLOTH. 

The following are cloth editions of Mrs. Henry Wood’s best boohs, and they 
are each issued in large octavo volumes, bound in cloth, price $1.75 each. 
Within the Maze. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “East Lynne,” $1 75 

The Master of Greylands. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 

Dene Hollow. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Wifhin the Maze,” 1 75 
Bessy Rane. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “The Channings,”.... 1 75 
George Canterbury's Will. By Mrs. Wood, author “Oswald Cray,” 1 75 
The Channings. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Dene Hollow,”... 1 75 

Roland Yorke. A Sequel to “ The Channings.” By Mrs. Wood, 1 75 

Shadow of Ashlydyatt. By Mrs. Wood, author of “Bessy Rane,”.... 1 75 
Lord Oakburn's Daughters; or The Earl’s Heirs. By Mrs. Wood,... 1 75 
Verner’s Pride. By Mrs. Henry Wood, aivthor of “ The Channings,” 1 75 
The Castle’s Heir; or Lady Adelaide’s Oath. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 
Oswald Cray. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Roland Yorke,”.... 1 75 

Squire Trevlyn’s Heir; or Trevlyn Hold. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 

The Red Court Farm. By Mrs. Wood, author of “Verner’s Pride,” 1 75 
Elster’s Folly. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Castle’s Heir,”... 1 75 
St. Martin’s Eve. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “Dene Hollow,” 1 75 
Mildred Arkell. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “East Lynne,” 1 75 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 7 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ ROMANCES, IN CLOTH. 

The folloioing are cloth editions of Alexander Dumas' works , and they are 
each issued in large octavo volumes, hound in cloth, price $1.50 each. 
The Three Guardsmen ; or. The Three Mousquetaires. By A. Dumas, $1 50 
Twenty Years After; or the ** Second Series of Three Guardsmen,".,. 1 50 
Bragelonne; Son of Athos ; or “ Third Series of Three Guardsmen 1 50 
The Iron Mask; or the “ Fourth Series of The Three Guardsmen,".... 1 50 
Louise La Yalliere. The Sequel to “ The Iron Mask." Being the 


“ Fifth Book and End of the Three Guardsmen Series," 1 50 

The Memoirs of a Physician; or, Joseph Balsamo. Illustrated, 1 50 


Queen’s Necklace ; or “ Second Series of Memoirs of a Physician " 1 50 
Six Years Later; or the “ Third Series of Memoirs of a Physician," 1 50 
Countess of Charny ; or “ Fourth Series of Memoirs of a Physician" 1 50 
Andree De Taverney ; or “ Fifth Series of Memoirs of a Physician," 1 50 
The Chevalier. The Sequel to “ Andree De Taverney." Being the 

“ Sixth Book and End of the Memoirs of a Physician Series," 1 50 

The Adventures of a Marquis. By Alexander Dumas,. 1 50 

The Forty-Five Guardsmen. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 50 
Diana of Meridor, or Lady of Monsoreau. By Alexander Dumas,... 1 50 
The Iron Hand. By Alex. Dumas, author “Count of Monte-Cristo,” 1 50 

Caxnille; or the Fate of a Coquette. (La Dame aux Camelias,) 1 50 

The Conscript. A novel of the Days of Napoleon the First, 1 50 

Love and Liberty. A novel of the French Revolution of 1792-1793, 1 50 

THE “ COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO SERIES,” IN CLOTH. 

Tha Count of Monte-Cristo. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 50 
Edmond Dantes. The Sequel to the “ Count of Monte-Cristo,”....... 1 25 

The Countess of Monte-Cristo. The Companion to “Monte-Cristo,” 1 50 
The Wife of Monte-Cristo. Continuation of “Count of Monte-Cristo,” L 25 
The Son of Monte-Cristo. The Sequel to “Wife of Monte-Cristo,” 1 25 

T. S. ARTHUR’S GREAT TEMPERANCE BOOKS. 

Six Nights with the Washingtonians, Illustrated. T. S. Arthur’s 
Great Temperance Stories. Large Subscription Edition, cloth, gilt, 

$3.50; Red Roan, $4.50; Full Turkey Antique, Full Gilt, 6 00 

The Latimer Family ; or the Bottle and Pledge. By T. S. Arthur, cloth, 1 00 

MODEL SPEAKERS AND READERS. 

Comstock’s Elocution and Model Speaker. Intended for the use of 
Schools, Colleges, and for private Study, for the Promotion of 
Health, Cure of Stammering, and Defective Articulation. By 
Andrew Comstock and Philip Lawrence. With 236 Illustrations.. 2 00 
The Lawrence Speaker. A Selection of Literary Gems in Poetry and 
Prose, designed for the use of Colleges, Schools, Seminaries, Literary 
Societies. By Philip Lawrence, Professor of Elocution. 600 pages.. 2 00 
Comstock’s Colored Chart. Being a perfect Alphabet of the English 
Language, Graphic and Typic, with exercises in Pitch, Force and 
Gesture, and Sixty-Eight colored figures, representing the various 
postures and different attitudes to be used in declamation. On a large 
Roller. Every School should have a copy of it 5 00 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prior- 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following books are each issued in one large octavo volume, bound in 
cloth , at $1.50 each , or each one is done up in paper cover , at $1.00 each. 

The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, $1 50 

Mysteries of Paris ; and its Sequel, Gerolstein. By Eugene Sue,.... 1 50 

Martin, the Foundling. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, 1 50 

Ten Thousand a Year. By Samuel Warren. With Illustrations,.... 1 50 
The - following books are each issued in one large octavo volume , bound in 
cloth , at $2.00 each, or each one is done up in paper cover , at $1.50 each . 

Washington and His Generals. By George Lippard,.. 2 00 

The Quaker City; or, the Monks of Monk Hall. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Blanche of Brandywine. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Paul Ardenheim ; the Monk of Wissahickon. By George Lippard,. 2 00 
The Mysteries of Florence. By Geo. Lippard, author “ Quaker City,” 2 00 
The Pictorial Tower of London. By W. Harrison Ainsworth, 2 50 

The following are each issued in one large octavo volume, bound in cloth, price $1.50 
each, or a cheap edition is issued in paper cover , at 75 cents each. 

Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever, Cloth, $1 50 

Harry Lorrequer. With his Confessions. By Charles Lever,. ..Cloth, 1 50 

Jack Hinton, the Guardsman. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Davenport Dunn. A Man of Our Day. By Charles Lever, ...Cloth, 1 50 

Tom Burke of Ours. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

The Knight of G wynne. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Arthur O’Leary. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Con Cregan. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Horace Templeton. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Kate O’Donoghue. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. By Harry Cockton, Cloth, 1 50 

HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATED BOOKS. 

Each one is full of Illustrations, by Felix O. C . Barley, and bound in Cloth . 
Major Jones’ Courtship and Travels. In one vol., 29 Illustrations, .$1 75 

Major Jones’ Scenes in Georgia. With 16 Illustrations, 1 5f 

Swamp Doctor’s Adventures in the South-West. 14 Illustrations,... 1 50 

Col. Thorpe’s Scenes in Arkansaw. With 16 Illustrations, 1 50 

High Life in New York, by Jonathan Slick. With Illustrations,.... 1 50 

Piney Wood’s Tavern; or, Sam Slick in Texas. Illustrated, 1 50 

Humors of Falconbridge. By J. F. Kelley. With Illustrations, ... 1 50 

Simon Suggs’ Adventures and Travels. With 17 Illustrations, 1 50 

The Big Bear’s Adventures and Travels. With 18 Illustrations, 1 50 

Judge Haliburton’s Yankee Stories. Illustrated, 1 50 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship and Marriage. Illustrated, 1 50 

Lorrimer Littlegood. Illustrated. By author of (i Frank Fairlegh,” 1 50 
Neal’s Charcoal Sketches. By Joseph C. Neal. 21 Illustrations,... 2 50 

Major Jones’s Courtship. 21 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, 1 00 

Major Jones’s Travels. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, 1 00 

Major Jones’s Georgia Scenes. 12 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, eloth, 1 00 
Raney Cottem’s Courtship. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 50 cents, cloth, 1 00 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Priee, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


12 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


Orders solicited from Booksellers, Librarians, Canvassers, News 
Agents, and all others in want of good and fast-selling 
books, which will be supplied at very Low Rates.* 1 ^^ 


EMILE ZOLA’S NEW REALISTIC BOOKS. 

Nana! Sequel to L’Assominoir. By Emile Zola. Nana! Price 76 cents 
in paper cover, or $1.00 in morocco cloth, black and gold. Nana! 

L’Assommoir; or, Nana’s Mother. By Emile Zola. The Greatest Novel 
ever printed. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth. 

The Shop Girls of Paris. With their daily Life in Large Dry Goods Stores. 
By Emile Zola , author of “ Nana.” Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

Nana’s Brother. Son of “ Gervaise,” of “ L’Assommoir.” By Emile Zola , 
author of “ Nana.” Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

The Joys of Life. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana,” “ Pot-Bouille,” etc. 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

Her Two Husbands ; and Other Novelettes. By Emile Zola. Price 75 
cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

Pot-Bouille. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana.” “Pot-Bouille.” Price 
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Nana’s Daughter. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola’s Great 
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The Mysteries of the Court of Louis Napoleon. By Emile Zola. Price 
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The Girl in Scarlet; or, the Loves of SilvSre and Miette. By Emile Zola. 
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Albine ; or, The Abbe’s Temptation. (La Fante De L’Abbe Mouret.) By 
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La Belle Lisa; or, The Paris Market Girls. By Emile Zola. Price 75 
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H61&ne, a Love Episode ; or, Une Page D' Amour. By Emile Zola. 
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A Mad Love; or The Abb6 and His Court. By Emile Zola. Price 75 
cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

Magdalen Ferat. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana,” and “ L’Assoin- 
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Claude’s Confession. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana,” “ L’Assommoir,” 
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The Mysteries of Marseilles. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana.” Price 
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In the Whirlpool. (La Curee.) By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” 
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Ther&se Raquin. By Emile Zola. Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.00. 

ADOLPHE BELOT’S INGENIOUS NOVELS. 

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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS 1 PUBLICATIONS. 13 


PETERSONS’ SftUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

The following books are printed on tinted paper , and are issued in uniform, 
style , in square 12 mo. form. Price 50 Cents in Paper , or $1.00 in Cloth. 
Helen’s Babies. Budge and Toddie. By John Habberton. With an 
Illustrated Cover, and Portraits of t( Budge” and “Toddie,” and others. 
Mrs. Mayburn’s Twins. With the Mother’s Trials in the Morning. After- 
noon and Evening. By John Habberton, author of “Helen’s Babies.” 
Bertha’s Baby. Equal to “ Helen’s Babies.” Bertha’s Baby. With an 
Illustrated Cover, and a Portrait of *■ Bertha’s Baby” on it. 

The Annals of a Baby. Baby’s First Gifts. Naming the Baby. The 
Baby’s Party. Aunt Hannah, etc. By Mrs. Sarah Bridges Stebbins. 
Bessie’s Six Lovers. With Her Reflections, Resolves, Coronation, and 
Declaration ef Love. A Charming Love Story. By Henry Peterson. 
Two Kisses. A Bright and Snappy Love Story. By Hawley Smart. 

Her Second Love. A Thrilling Life-like and Captivating Love Story. 

A Parisian Romance. Octave Feuillet’ s New Book, just dramatized. 
Fauchon, the Cricket ; or, La Petite Fadette. By George Sand. 

Two Ways to Matrimony ; or, Is it Love? or, False Pride. 

The Matchmaker. By Beatrice Reynolds. A Charming Love Story. 

The Story of Elizabeth. By Miss Thackeray, daughter of W. M. Thackeray. 
The Amours of Philippe ; or, Philippe’s Love Affairs, by Octave Feuillet. 
Sybil Brotherton. A Novel. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 
Raney Cottem’s Courtship. By author of “ Major Jones’s Courtship.” 
Father Tom and the Pope; or, A Night at the Vatican. Illustrated. 

A Woman’s Mistake; or, Jacques de Trevannes. A Charming Love Story. 
The Days of Madame Pompadour. A Romance of the Reign of Louis XV. 
The Little Countess. By Octave Feuillet, author of “ Count De Camors.” 
The Red Hill Tragedy. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 

The American L’Assommoir. A parody on Zola’s “ L’Assommoir.” 

Hyde Park Sketches. A very humorous and entertaining work. 

Miss Margery’s Roses. A Charming Love Story. By Robert C. Meyers. 
Madeleine. A Charming Love Story. Jules Sandeau’s Prize Novel. 
Carmen. By Prosper Merimee. Book the Opera teas dramatized from . 
That Girl of Mine. By the author of “ That Lover of Mine.” 

That Lover of Mine. By the author of “ That Girl of Mine.” 

PETERSONS’ SQUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

The Wife of Monte-Cristo. Continuation of “ Count of Monte-Cristo.” 
The Son of Monte-Cristo. The Sequel to “ The Wife of Monte-Cristo.” 
Married Above Her. A Society R omance. By a Lady of New York. 

The Man from Texas. A Powerful Western Romance, full of adventure. 
Erring, Yet Noble. A Book of Women and for Women. By I. G. Reed. 
The Fair Enchantress; or, How She Won Men’s Hearts. By Miss Keller. 

Above are in paper cover , price 75 cents each, or $1.25 each in cloth . 
Harry Coverdale’s Courtship and Marriage. Paper, 75 cts. ; cloth, $1.50. 
Those Pretty St. George Girls. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, gilt, $1.00. 
The Prairie Flower, and Leni-Leoti. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
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14 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


PETERSONS’ SQUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

Major Jones’s Courtship. 21 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00 
Major Jones’s Georgia Scenes. 12 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Major Jones’s Travels. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00* 
Simon Suggs’ Adventures. 10 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.00, 
Louisiana Swamp Doctor. 6 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Initials. 'A. Z.’ By Baroness Tautphoeus. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.25, 
Indiana! A Love Story. By George Sand. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
Monsieur, Madame, and the Baby. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
L’EvangSliste. By Alphonse Daudet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
The Duchesse Undine. By H. Penn Diltz. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
The Hidden Record. By E. W. Blaisdell. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Consuelo. By George Sand. Paper cover, Price 75 cents; cloth, $1.0^. 
Countess of Rudolstadt. Sequel to Consuelo. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Changed Brides. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. Paper, 75 cts. 
The Bride’s Fate. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. Taper, 75 cents. 
Self-Raised; or, From the Depths. By Mrs. Southworth. Paper, 75 cts. 
Ishmael; or, in the Depths. By Mrs. Southworth. Paper, 75 cents. 
The Fatal Marriage. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. Paper, 75 cents 
The Bridal Eve; or, Rose Elmer. By Mrs. Southworth. Paper, 75 cents. 
A Russian Princess. By Emmanuel Gonzales. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
A Woman’s Perils ; or, Driven from Home. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
A Fascinating Woman. By Edmond Adam. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
La Faustin. By Edmond de Goncourt. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Monsieur Le Ministre. By Jules Claretie. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Winning the Battle; or, One Girl in 10,000. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
A Child of Israel. By Edouard Cadol. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Exiles. The Russian ‘ Robinson Crusoe.’ Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
My Hero. A Love Story. By Mrs. Forrester. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.00. 
Paul Hart; or, The Love of His Life. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
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Bellah. A Love Story. By Octave Feuillet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Sabine’s Falsehood. A Love Story. Paper, price 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Linda ; or, The Young Pilot of the Belle Creole. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1 .25. 
The Woman in Black. Illustrated Cover. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Madame Bovary. By Gustave Flaubert. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Count de Camors. By Octave Feuillet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
How She Won Him ! A Love Story. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
Angele’s Fortune. By Andre Theuriet. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
St. Maur; or, An Earl’s Wooing. Paper cover, price 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
The Prince of Breffny. By Thomas P. May. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.50. 
The Earl of Mayfield. By Thomas P. May. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 

THE “COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO SERIES.” 

The Count of Monte-Cristo. Illustrated. Paper cover, $1.00, cloth, $1.50, 
Edmond Dantes. Sequel to “ Monte-Cristo.” Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.25. 
The Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, $1.00, morocco cloth, $1.50. 
The Wife of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, 75 cents, morocco cloth, $1.25. 
The Son of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, 75 cents, morocco cloth, $1.25. 


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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 15 


HENRY GRiVILLE’S CHARMING NOVELS. 

Dosia. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “ Markof.” 
Saveli’s Expiation. A Powerful Russian Story. By Henry Greville. 
Tania’s Peril. A Russian Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Sonia. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia.” 

Lucie Rodey. A Charming Society Novel. By Henry Greville. 
Bonne-Marie. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Gr6ville. 
Xenie’s Inheritance. A Tale of Russian Life. By Henry Greville. 
Dournof. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 
Mam’zelle Eugenie. A Russian Love Story. By Henry Greville. 
Gabrielle ; or, The House of Maureze. By Henry Greville. 

A Friend ; or, “L’Ami.” By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 

Above are in paper cover , price 50 cents each , or in cloth , at $1,00 each . 
Marrying Off a Daughter. A Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Sylvie’s Betrothed. A Charming Novel. By Henry Greville. 

Philomene’s Marriages. A Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Guy’s Marriage; also Pretty Little Countess Zina. By Henry Greville. 

Above are in paper cover , price 75 cents each , or in cloth , at $1.25 each . 
The Trials of Raiissa. By Henry Greville , author of “ Dosia.” 

The Princess Ogherof. A Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each , or in cloth, at $1.00 each . 
Markof, the Russian Violinist. Paper cover, 75 cents; cloth, $1.50. 

MRS. F. H. BURNETT’S NOVELLETTES. 

Kathleen. A Love Story. By author of “That Lass o’ Lowries.” 

Theo. A Love Story. By author of “ Kathleen,” “Miss Crespigny,” eto. 
Lindsay’s Luck. A Love Story\ By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. 
Pretty Polly Pemberton. By author of “ Kathleen,” “Theo,” etc. 

A Quiet Life. By Mrs. Burnett, author of “ That Lass o’ Lowries.” 

Miss Crespigny. A Charming Love Story. By author of “Kathleen.” 
Jarl’s Daughter and Other Novelettes. By Mrs. Burnett. 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each , or in cloth , at $1.00 each. 

BOOKS BY AUTHOR OF ‘A HEART TWICE WON.’ 

A Heart Twice Won; or, Second Love. A Love Story. By Mrs. Eliza- 
beth Van Loorl. Morocco cloth, black and gold. Price $1.50. 

Under the Willows; or, The Three Countesses. By Mrs. Elizabeth Van 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50. 
The Shadow of Hampton Mend. A Charming Story. By Mrs. Elizabeth 
Van Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth. Price $1.50. 

The Mystery of Allanwold. A Thrilling Novel. By Mrs. Elizabeth Van 
Loon , author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50. 
The Last Athenian. By Victor Rydberg. Translated from the Swedish. 

Large 12mo. volume, near 600 pages, cloth, black and gold, price $1.75. 
The Roman Traitor; or, The Days of Cicero, Cato, and Cataline. A Tale 
of the Republic. By Henry William Herbert. Morocco cloth, price $1 .75. 
Francatelli’s Modern Cook Book tor 1886. Enlarged Edition. With the 
most approved methods of French, English, German, and Italian Cook- 
ery. With 62 Illustrations. 600 pages, morocco cloth, price $5.00. 


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"MONTE-CRISTO SERIES." 

JPetersons 9 Complete and Unabridged Editions . 


EDMOND DANTES. The Sequel to “ The Count of Monte-Cristo ," by Alex - 
andei ' Dumas. “ Edmond Dantes " is one of the most wonderful romances ever 
issued. Just at the point where “ The Count of Monte- Cristo " ends, “ Edmond 
Dantes " takes up the fascinating narrative and continues it with marvellous 
power and absorbing interest unto the end. Every word tells, and the number 
of unusually stirring incidents is legion, while the plot is phenomenal in its 
strength, merit and ingeniousness. This is the only Edition Published of 
Edmond Dantes f the Sequel to “ The Count of Monte-Cristo." Complete in 
one large volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or $1.25, bound in morocco cloth. 

THE COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO. Petersons' New Illustrated 
Edition. By Alexander Dumas. With full-page Engravings, illustrative of va- 
rious scenes in the work. Petersons' Edition of “ The Count of Monte- Cristo" 
is the only Complete and Unabridged Edition of it ever translated , and it is con- 
ceded by all to be the greatest as well as the most exciting and best historical 
novel ever printed. Complete in one large octavo volume of six hundred pages, 
paper cover, price One Dollar, or $1.50 bound in morocco cloth. 

THE WIFE OF MONTE-CRISTO. Being the Continuation of Alex- 
ander Dumas' Celebrated Novel of “ The Count of Monte- Cristo." With an 
Illustrated Cover, with Portraits of “ Monte- Cristo ," “ Haydeef and their faithful 
servant, i( Ali," on it. Every person that has read “ The Count of Monte-Cristo " 
should get the continuation of it, “ 7 Vie Wife of Monte- Cristo at once, and read 
it. One large volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or $1.25 bound in cloth. 

THE SON OF MONTE-CRISTO. Being the Sequel to “ The Wife of 
Monte-Cristo," and the end of the Continuation of Alexander Dumas' Celebrated 
Novel of “ The Count of Monte-Cristo." With an Illustrated Cover, with Por- 
traits of the various heroines in the work on it. Every person that has read 
“ The Count of Monte-Cristo" or “ The Wife of Monte-Cristo ," should get the 
conclusion and end of them, “ The Son of Monte-Cristo," at once, and read it. 
One large volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or $1.25 bound in morocco cloth. 

THE COUNTESS OF MONTE-CRISTO. Bei ng the Companion to 
Alexander Dumas' Celebrated Novel of “ The Count of Monte-Cristo," and 
fully equal to that world-renowned novel, is a work of extraordinary power, fas- 
cination and interest. At the very commencement of the novel the Count of 
Monte Cristo, Haydee, the wife of Monte-Cristo, and Esperance, the son of 
Monte-Cristo, take part in a weird scene, in which Mercedes, Albert de Morcerf 
and the Countess of Monte-Cristo also participate, and on her touching trials, 
strange deeds and astonishing exploits the entire novel hinges. One large 
octavo volume, paper cover, price One Dollar, or $u$o in mor< cco cloth. 

fTTP Above five works are for sale by all Booksellers and Nezvs Agents, at all Nezvs 

Stands everywhere, and on all Railroad Trains, or copies of any one or all of them, will 

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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia , Pa. 


Little Heartsease. 

BY 

Xa_ w RIGHT. 


" Little Heartsease ," by Annie L. Wright, is a delightful, catchy romance certain 
to captivate all who read it. Essentially a home novel, it deals in a masterly way 
with American domestic life of the present time , touching upon contemporaneous 
society of the higher grade and bringing in most of the refined pastimes of the day. 
It is somewhat in the style of Rhoda Broughton , and as bright, breezy, clever, amu- 
sing and pathetic as anything that brilliant English novelist ever wrote. 7 he char- 
acters are mostly young people, and very sprightly young people they are, too, though 
many older personages are brought in to fill up the background appropriately. The 
Raymonds are the central figures, and about them all the others revolve. Little 
Pansy , the heroine, with her dogs and pets, leaps at once into the reader s heart and 
maintains her position there all through the charming novel. She is a vivacious 
young lady of pronounced individuality, full of vim , energy, spirit and humor, 
though fidelity is her distinguishing trait, and rare fidelity it is. 7 he interest she 
excites is peculiar and deep. It never lags, but increases as the romance moves on, 
and in the exciting and pathetic passages towards the close is intense. 7'he lively 
boys and girls of the earlier part of the novel meet with varied experiences, some par- 
ticularly stirring and touching. Love, of course, is a prime factor in the narrative ; 
there is love that runs smoothly and love that doesn't , but it is all of the genuine stamp. 
What little villany is in the book is hinted at rather than expressed, and is, at most, 
but a vague, passing vision. Jack's infirmity leads to much that is vastly creditable 
to the higher human sympathies, and the mystery surrounding Alan Dunstan is 
well handled. Portia and Prim are very pleasing girls, and matronly Rose is de- 
liciously portrayed. Hal, Bob, Hugh, Ralph and the rest are agreeable and manly , 
and Dad, the father of the Raymonds, is an exceptionally attractive personage, while 
old colored “Auntie," tender and faithful, rises to the rank of a positive creation, the 
scene in which she rouses Pansy's dormant tears in order to save her life being a 
perfect triumph of the novelist's art. 7he sensational element finds abundant exem- 
plification in Jack's accident. Altogether , “ Little Heartsease" is a most masterly 
and absorbing novel. It will certainly make a pronounced hit, for it deserves to be 
widely read and certainly will be. 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 


“ Little Heartsease " will be found for sale by all Booksellers and at all News 
Stands everywhere, or copies of it ivill be sent to any one, to any place, at once, post- 
paid, on remitting the price of the edition wished to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa, 


Mrs. Southworth’s Works. 

EACH IS IN ONE LARGE DUODECIMO VOLUME, MOROCCO CLOTH, GILT BACK, PRICE $1.50 EACH 
Copies of all or any will be sent post-paid, to any place, on receipt of remittances. 

SHMAEL ; or, IN THE DEPTHS. (Being “ Self-Made ; or, Out of Depths. 
SELF-RAISED ; or, From the Depths. The Sequel to “ Ishmael.” 

THE PHANTOM WEDDING; or, The Fall of the House of Flint. 

THE “MOTHER-IN-LAW;” or, MARRIED IN HASTE. 

THE MISSING BRIDE; or, MIRIAM, THE AVENGER. 

VICTOR’S TRIUMPH. The Sequel to “A Beautiful Fiend. : ' 

A BEAUTIFUL FIEND; or, THROUGH THE FIRE. 

THE LADY OF THE ISLE; or, THE ISLAND PRINCESS. 

FAIR PLAY; or, BRITOMARTE, THE MAN-HATER. 

HOW HE WON HER. The Sequel to “ Fair Play.” 

THE CHANGED BRIDES; or, Winning Her Way. 

THE BRIDE’S FATE. The Sequel to “ The Changed Brides." 
CRUEL AS THE GRAVE; or, Hallow Eve Mystery. 

.TRIED FOR HER LIFE. The Sequel to “ Cruel as the Grave.” 

THE CHRISTMAS GUEST; or, The Crime and the Curse. 

THE LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW ; or, The Brothers. 

A NOBLE LORD. The Sequel to “ The Lost Heir of Linlithgow." 
tHE FAMILY DOOM; or, THE SIN OF A COUNTESS. 

THE MAIDEN WIDOW. The Sequel to “The Family Doom.” 

THE GIPSY’S PROPHECY; or, The Bride of an Evening. 

THE FORTUNE SEEKER; or, Astrea, The Bridal Day. 

THE THREE BEAUTIES; or, SHANNONDALE. 

FALLEN PRIDE; or, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL’S LOVE. 

THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER; or, The Children of the Isle. 

THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS; or, HICKORY HALL. 

THE TWO SISTERS; or, Virginia and Magdalene. 

THE FATAL MARRIAGE • or, ORVILLE DEVILLE. 

INDIA; or, THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER. 

THE WIDOW’S SON; or, LEFT ALONE. 

THE MYSTERY OF DARK HOLLOW. 

ALLWORTH ABBEY; or, EUDORA. 

THE BRIDAL EVE; or, ROSE ELMER. 

VIVIA; or, THE SECRET OF POWER. 

THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD. 


THE CURSE OF CLIFTON, 
THE WIFE’S VICTORY. 
THE SPECTRE LOVER. 

THE ARTIST’S LOVE.l 
THE FATAL SECRET. 

LOVE’S LABOR WON. 
THE LOST HEIRESS. 


BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


THE DESERTED WIFE. RETRIBUTION. 

■ Mrs. Southworth’s works will be found for sale by all first-class Booksellers. 

■ Copies of any one, or more of Mrs. Southworth’s works, will be sent to any place, 
*ace, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price of the ones canted to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, T * 


A Bohemian Tragedy. 


BY 



“A Bohemian Tragedy written by Miss Lily Curry , a prominent New York 
literary lady , is destined to create an immediate and profound sensation , and to be 
read with avidity everywhere. * Not only is it an unusually absorbing , bright and 
clever novel, but also a piquant and trenchant revelation of the inner workings of 
literary Bohemia as found in New York city , and of the peculiar eccentricities char- 
acterizing certain writers for the press and contributors to the general literature of 
the day . Lilcey Wilce , the heroine, finds herself struggling to obtain a foothold as 
a writer in the great metropolis. She has beauty and talent , but lacks infiue7ttial 
friends. Airs. Elinor Vane- Gleason introduces her to Winthrop Coutts, one of 
those, ready litterateurs known as “ all Wound writers ,” who has met with considera- 
ble success, and who undertakes to make her known to publishers and such people as 
can advance her interests. Coutts immediately falls in love with Lilcey. She re- 
turns his passion and protttpfly finds herself in a sea of trouble. This pitiful love 
story is the main theme of the novel , and the complications it gives rise to, supple- 
mented by Coutts ’ cowardice and vacillating nature, bring on a series of scenes of an 
intensely emotional and stirring description, sometimes fraught with a tender pathos 
very difficult to resist. Lilcey and Coutts are directly in the whirl of metropolitan 
Bohemianism, and, of course , meet hosts of literary men and women who are de- 
scribed in detail, forming a gallery of portraits of prominent lights of journalism 
and general literature exceedingly interesting to contemplate. It goes without saying 
that multitudinous guesses will be made as to the originals of these portraits and thcii 
public curiosity will thereby be directed to “ A Bohemian Tragedy ” in a manner 
well calculated to give it unusual prominence and an enormous circulation. Fore- 
most among these portraitures is that of a well-known and much-admired poetess , 
who, under the name of Elinor Vane- Gleason, pei'vades the romance, proving her- 
self the possessor of a great heart and deep human feeling as well as of talents of a 
high order in her walk of literature. In Vashti Valle mere a glimpse is given of a 
“ coming tragedienne and numerous literary receptions are described in a breezy , 
chatty way particularly delightful. Many people fond of the society of writers are 
also referred to, so that everybody will find some familiar or apparently familiar 
personage to ponder and puzzle over. The novel is very spiritedly and agreeably 
written, and moves straight along from beginning to end without digression or pad- 
ding. Its entire originality and pronounced merit desei've and undoubtedly will 
receive full recognition. (( A Bohemian 1'ragedyf in short, cannot be praised too 
highly, as all who read it will readily ad?nit. It is a romance, too, that will last , 
and its perusal at any time will delight any who may take it up. 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 


“ A Bohemian Tragedy ” will be found for sale by all Booksellers and at all 
News Stands everywhere, or copies of it 7 u/ll be sent to any one, to any place, at once , 
post-paid , on remitting the price of the edition wished to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Not His Daughter. 

AN AMERICAN NOVEL. 

By Will Herbert. 

“Not His Daughter ," a new American ro??iance of the present time, by Will Her - 
bert , deserves more than a passing notice , for it is an unusually bright , clever and 
pleasing novel. The interest is pronou7iced and continuous , while the breezy , grace- 
ful way in which the book is written is peculiarly charming . 1 here is just villainy 
enough in the well-constructed plot to furnish the necessary quota of melodrama, and 
sufficient humor of quite an unstrained and agreeable quality is introduced to lighten 
the shadows and keep the reader in a comfortable state of mind. Those who relish 
love stories will find this delightful fiction entirely to their liking, as the tender pas- 

! sion and its votaries figure largely in it. Frank Harper's romantic though hopeless 
adoration of Violet Frone and his heroic sacrifice upon the altar of friendship are 
wonderfully pathetic and touching. Professor Darcy is a scientist who does not scorn 
to entertain Cupid as a welcome guest, even if the little god is at first disposed to tip 
his arrows with gall and bitterness. Charley Chanwood' s joyous disposition and 
inability to keep from falling in love with every fresh young feminine face he encoun- 
ters make him a fruitful source of amusement. His fun is perfectly irrepressible and 
breaks out perpetually . Violet Frone , with the dark cloud hovering over her, and 
blythe Grace Harper are very effectively drawn, and in strong contrast with them is 
Emma Stannel , who, under the guidance of her managing mamma, is constantly on 
the watch to catch a rich admirer and inveigle him into matrimony. Augustus 
Frone is well pictured, as also are Hatton and Kft , the lawyers. Bill Norton, an 
irreclaimable drunkard and an unscrupulous scoundrel, zvho, in order to obtain 
money, does not hesitate to attempt robbery, is very cleverly delineated, and Aunt 
Tabitha, Mrs. Sanders , “Bowls" Watson, Mrs. Donovan and the rest fill their 
places appropriately. Niffs conspiracy is a shrewd and knavish transaction, and 
the manner in which it is eventually thwarted is both ingenious and dramatic. 
There are many powerful and thrilling scenes, among which may be named Norton's 
midnight meeting with his wife, Hatton's experience in the “Sailors' Retreat" and 
QuearPs disclosure of his identity ; indeed, the latter is 07ie of the strongest a7id most 
original incidents to be found either in fiction or the dra7?ia. “Not His Daughter" 
is a wholesome as well as an interesting and entertainhig romance. It is compact 
and entirely devoid of extraneous matter , while the action goes straight on. lhat it 
is a7i excellent piece of work can7iot be denied. It deserves success , and should be 
read eve7ywhere a7id by everybody. 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 


“Not His Daughter" will be foimd for sale by all Booksellers and at all 
News Stands everywhere, or copies of it will be se7it to any one, to any place, at once , 
post-paid, 07i re77iitti7ig the price of the editio7i wished to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


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A BOHEMIAN TRAGEDY. A Spicy Novel of New York 
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T. B. PETEKSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


























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